by Sharon Sala
He took the highway out of Branson toward Table Rock Lake. As usual, the traffic made the trip slower than it should have been, but he was used to it. It gave him a little time to unwind as he drove and to admire the beauty of the Ozarks.
Five years ago, he'd abandoned the city and bought a home near the lake. Even though the drive to get out here meant dealing with traffic, it had been worth it.
When he finally saw his turnoff ahead, he began to relax. The road leading home was always the Off switch to job responsibilities.
He saw the roofline first and was already envisioning the wide-open floor plan and his kitchen. He'd left dishes in the sink this morning and still needed to do a load of laundry, but all of that would be dealt with before he ended his day.
Right now, the sight of the two-story log home made him smile. He watched morning light appearing over the trees from the front deck, and the sun setting below them from the back. The grounds around it were laid out with greenery and native rock, and he'd laid a curved blacktop drive within the trees to keep from cutting any of them down.
He'd worked hard for what he had. A thriving business. A beautiful home. Plenty of friends. The only thing lacking in John Gatlin's world was someone to come home to.
He grinned as a rabbit hopped out of the front flower bed and slipped beneath the porch pilings. He liked being the sanctuary for wildlife. Sometimes there were deer in his back yard late in the evening, and rabbits and raccoons abounded.
His friends kept telling him he either needed to get a woman or a dog. But the dog would not abide the wildlife, and John didn't want to trade one for the other. So, the deer and the rabbits had won out.
As for the woman, John had already lived a life of merry-go-round dating, none of which had worked out. He was at the point where either fate would provide, or it would not.
He parked in the garage around back and got out, pausing briefly to check out the property, saw nothing amiss, and went inside.
Cool air met him at the door.
He took off his work boots in the utility room, and then padded through the house and up the stairs to his room and stripped. As he was emptying his pockets, he saw the little silver angel still with his change. He'd been carrying it ever since the day he'd seen her. He just couldn't turn loose of the hope that he'd see her somewhere again, and if he did, it was going to be his excuse to talk to her. He had never been this focused on a total stranger and was inclined to blame it on the solitude of his personal life.
His family lived in Kansas, but ever since he'd bought this place, he'd become the host for the family festivities at holidays. His parents, his sister and husband, and their two kids always came and stayed. It was unbridled chaos, and he loved it and them.
At least their visits were something to look forward to.
Gracie had emptied her suitcases and shelved them down in the garage. The groceries were put up, and she was eating a cookie as she prowled through the rooms, opening doors, looking in drawers, finding out what she had to work with.
It had been a long time since she'd actually cooked on a stove, but this place was cool and clean, and the hardwood floors were smooth beneath her feet.
She had so many options for her evening meal that she couldn't decide on anything and wound up with a bowl of cereal and a can of Coke, because sometimes the familiar was what was needed to settle. She took her food to the little dinette table, turned on the TV, and ate watching the evening news.
As soon as she was finished, she took her laptop into the living room, and curled up on the velvet-tufted sofa to let Darlene know she'd found a place to live and was actively applying for jobs.
I found an apartment. It's as eclectic as Mama was. A little bit of everything from different generations. I love it. I'm sending you the address. Job hunting is in progress. Love to all of you.
She hit Send, and then pulled her laptop into her lap to check for replies from her job applications.
There were seven, but the first six were rejections. Either the jobs had already been filled, or she had lacked the experience required.
Disappointing, but not surprising.
She opened the last one, expecting more of the same, but to her surprise, the hostess job she'd applied for at a local steakhouse had a positive response. She had a request for an in-person interview tomorrow with the manager. That was a job she could do in her sleep, and the pay was decent. All she could do was hope.
Darlene sent a return text about an hour later.
Caleb and I have been in the ER. He smashed his thumb in the car door. Ugh. He's fine. Mama, not so much. Kudos on the apartment and thanks for the address. Happy job hunting. Stay in touch. We love you.
Gracie winced just reading it. Poor Caleb. Poor Darlene.
James was back at work and dealing with the legal aspects of the ranch long-distance. With the mailing address changed, he continued to pay the utility bills. He'd had the furniture put in storage, was having the home painted inside and out, and new flooring and appliances replaced in the kitchen. It shamed him that he was also putting in a new central heat and air system because it was going to sit idle in an empty house. After the misery his mama and Gracie had endured, they would so have appreciated it, but he also knew if he had a decent chance of selling it, the house needed to be habitable. Right now, there was nothing more to do until the will went through probate.
Unaware that his siblings had already donated money, he had also donated ten thousand dollars into Gracie's fund before he’d left Sweetwater. It had been the only way he'd known how to get money to her without her knowing where it came from. He'd thought it would make him feel better, but it hadn't.
When people got broken, it always caused pain, and there wasn't enough money in the world to repair the damage. He consoled himself by knowing that, wherever she was, she wouldn't be hungry or homeless. He needed to remember to say daily prayers for his immortal soul, because James was still on the "me first" track, and he really didn't want to go to hell.
Long after Gracie was showered and in her own pajamas ready for bed, she walked through the darkened apartment, using nightlights and moonlight by which to see. It was a thing with her—the need to know her safe place by day and by night. What a person knew, she could not fear, and Gracie did not ever want to be afraid again.
And so she moved from window to window, looking out at the grounds, and the sky, and the lights of the city, and the security lights on the neighbors' properties. Soon, she would know what was normal, and what was amiss.
She was grateful tonight.
For a man named Sam, who'd thought to call her back.
For a woman named Lucy, who had a rebel heart and a propensity for not following rules.
But for them, she would not be here in this place.
Finally, satisfied that she was where she belonged, she made her way back to that four-poster bed and climbed in.
The central air was moving through the room, stirring the canopy above her. Moonlight came through the cracks in the blinds. She didn't hear coyotes, but she did hear traffic, and she could hear faint strains of music coming from somewhere. It was good enough to sleep to.
The alarm woke Gracie from a dreamless sleep.
She rolled over to shut it off, and then remembered she had an interview this morning and leaped out of bed.
The newness of her surroundings was still a total delight, and she dawdled in the claw-foot bathtub longer than she should have, then raced into the kitchen, popped a breakfast sandwich into the microwave, and made herself a cup of coffee.
Then because she could, she ate standing up at the kitchen sink, looking out the window at a blue jay catching hell from a squirrel in the same tree.
The trees, alone, made this place special. All the green, and the shade beneath them—she couldn't wait to see what it all looked like in the winter when it snowed.
As soon as she was through eating, she ran to get dressed. She didn't know what the dress code for hoste
sses at this steakhouse might be, but black slacks and a black and white top should be safe, and the blouse covered up all of the scars—something the average diner would not want to be greeted with. She put on the black heels she'd worn to the funeral, which made her appear even taller, left her hair down, and pulled out a red lipstick, giving her lips a quick swipe.
At that point, this was as good as she was going to get. The steakhouse wasn't in Branson proper, but out on the road toward Table Rock Lake. She didn't know how long it would take to get there, and didn't want to be late, so she decided to leave early. It was a little after 9:00 when she got her purse, opened the garage door from the landing, and took the stairs down to her car.
She was just about to get in her car when she saw a landscape crew off to the side of Lucy's driveway, obviously getting ready to work. One of the men was offloading a riding mower and happened to look up just as she stopped to watch them. Within seconds he had the mower on the ground, and then came out of the seat and started toward her in long, hurried strides. That's when she realized she knew him.
Then she corrected herself. She didn't "know" him, but she'd seen him before—at the Hard Luck Diner, when everything had fallen out of her purse.
Before, she'd been so rattled he had barely registered in her mind, but now that she had time, she could appreciate the view.
She liked his face. High cheekbones. A bit of a hawk-like hook to his nose. And a strong jaw. His shoulders were broad. His legs were long, and the closer he came, the more she felt like running, which was weird. Men didn't scare her. Mama had scared her, but she'd never met a man that gave her pause. So, she stood her ground, waiting.
Chapter Eleven
The Bedford property was the second stop of the morning for Gatlin Landscaping. Lucy had been one of John's first customers, and she had stayed with him through all his struggles getting his business started and continued to applaud his success and growth.
He liked Lucy, but since he'd quit going out on daily jobs, he rarely saw her. He was hoping he'd at least get to say hello, and was helping the men unload equipment, while keeping an eye on the house, just in case she came out. He was backing the riding lawn mower off the trailer when he happened to look up. Within the seconds it took for him to register the woman standing in the doorway of the old garage as the one he'd been looking for, he jumped off the mower, without looking where he was walking, and threw out orders as he passed.
"Go ahead and start cleaning beds and edging, I'll be right back," he said, and took off toward her.
He couldn't believe she was still here. This had to be a sign. Please God, don't let her already be taken.
He took heart in the fact that she was watching him as intently as he was looking at her, and he hoped she remembered him. Otherwise, this long-awaited moment could turn out to be a bust.
And then they were standing face to face, and John stopped, dug his hand into the pocket where he kept his change, and pulled out the little charm.
"I have something I think belongs to you," he said, then gently took her hand and laid the angel on her palm.
Gracie gasped. Mama had given that to her the day she'd gone away to college, and she'd never taken it out of her purse. She'd had no idea it was gone and would have been devastated to lose it.
"Oh my God. Thank you...so much," Gracie said, clutching it to her chest.
John smiled.
"I was afraid I'd never see you again to return it. My name is John. John Gatlin."
Gracie dropped the charm into her purse, then held out her hand.
"I'm Gracie Dunham."
Her handshake was firm. He didn't want to let go.
"It is entirely my pleasure. So, where are you off to this morning?"
"A job interview. It's hit or miss as to whether I get it, but I have to start somewhere."
"Well, if my opinion matters, you look beautiful."
Gracie almost smiled. "If you were hiring, it would."
John laughed. "In any case, good luck."
"Thank you," Gracie said.
John nodded, then cleared his throat.
"May I ask you a question?"
"I guess," Gracie said.
"Are you single?"
He wasn't laughing. He wasn't flirting. And Gracie would have sworn he was holding his breath for the answer.
"As the day is long," she said.
John nodded. "So am I. If I had your number, I would definitely call to ask you out for coffee...or lunch...if I had your number."
Gracie's eyes narrowed. Did she want to do this? Now? "Do you know my landlady?" she asked, avoiding his request for number.
"For almost ten years. She's one of my oldest customers," he said.
She frowned. "I'm going to be late for my interview."
Not deterred, John pulled out a business card.
"Then here's my number. No pressure, but I'd love to hear how the interview goes, so call me tonight if you want. That has both my business and personal number. It's been a pure pleasure to meet you, Gracie. I'll be looking forward to your call."
Gracie dropped the card in her purse. "Thank you for saving my angel."
"Meant to be," John said. "Good luck on your interview."
Elated, he turned around and jogged back to his crew as Gracie backed out of the garage and drove away.
She already had the address entered into her GPS app, so she followed the directions, wasting no time looking at scenery and sights. Being prompt mattered.
This morning, she'd been completely focused on this interview, and then John Gatlin happened. He'd helped her on her first day here, then gave her something today that she'd hadn't known she'd lost. She hadn't decided if she would call him or just let all this slide, so she set him aside for now to focus on where she was going.
Her heart began pounding when she finally reached the restaurant. She knew it didn't open until eleven, but the employees' cars were already on site, and they were inside setting up for lunch.
Waiting tables had been her college job until her senior year of interning. It wasn't the actual work here that made her anxious; it was the possibility of being rejected.
The front doors were still locked, but she'd been told to call, so she did. A couple of minutes later, a waitress showed up to let her in. She tried to give Gracie the side-eye, but Gracie was too tall to intimidate, so she locked the door behind them instead.
"I'm Karen. Greg is in his office. Follow me."
If waitresses here called the boss by his first name, this could be a sign he was good to work for, Gracie thought, and followed her through the dining area, past the public restrooms, and down another hall to the office.
Karen knocked on the door, then pushed it inward.
"Your 10:00 appointment is here," she said, and walked off, leaving Gracie standing in the hall.
So, that's Greg, Gracie thought, eyeing a handsome, well-dressed man with blond highlights in his hair.
Greg Lassiter saw Gracie, liked what he saw, and came to meet her.
"Come in, come in. I'm Greg Lassiter. Just have a seat, and we'll get started," he said.
He held the chair for her as she sat, then gave her shoulder a light squeeze.
In that moment, every aspect of Gracie's creep radar came on as he seated himself across the desk. She sat up straighter, her knees together, her feet tucked beneath the chair, and stared him straight in the face.
Too full of himself to see the warning signs, Greg flashed her a wide smile, then shuffled through the application and resumé she'd submitted online.
"So, Gracie, according to your resumé, it's been several years since you have worked in the public. Was there a specific reason or was that just personal choice?"
"I was a caregiver for my mother. I stayed with her until she passed."
"Oh. I'm so sorry. My sympathies," Greg said. "So, this was recent."
Gracie nodded. "Yes, but as you can see by my resumé, I'm more than qualified for the job you're off
ering."
Greg nodded. "I agree. I also see you're new to Branson. Just so you know, we cater more to fine dining here, therefore I like for my hostesses to dress in what I call, after-five chic. You know...sexy, but classy. You're very tall. Some men don't like a woman to be taller than them, but you have a pretty face. If you don't mind, I'd like for you to stand up, turn around, and walk toward the door and then back. You'll be seating guests, so I want to see how you look coming and going." Then he winked. "It never hurts to see what's in the caboose, right?"
Gracie was so enraged, she was shaking. She stood, walked all the way to the door, opened it so hard it slammed against the wall, and then turned around and let him have it.
"My daddy, if he were still alive, would have beat you to within an inch of your life for what you just said to me! You want to see my ass? Then you better look fast because that's the last thing you're going to see. I don't kiss ass to get a job. I don't show my ass to get a job. And I'm not going to work for an ass to do it."
Then she slammed the door shut so hard the window rattled. She strode past employees staring at her in shock. Past the tables. Past the front desk, and then walked up to hostess station, to Karen, the waitress who'd let her in.
"You! Unlock the door and let me out."
Like everyone else in the building, Karen was staring at Gracie in shock, unable to believe what she'd just heard.
"NOW!" Gracie shouted.
Karen jumped, and then went running toward the door and unlocked it.
Gracie hit it with the flat of her hand and kept walking.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" she muttered, and then got in the car and left rubber on the pavement of the parking lot as she drove away.
The abruptness of her exit had set a fire of its own inside the restaurant. The employees were whispering among themselves.
"Who was she?"
"Does anyone know her name?"