by Tonya Kappes
The sparkling rays of the new-day sun twinkled on the still surface of the lake, catching her eye and bringing her back to reality.
Hudson Hollow was beautiful, a place where many newlyweds took their honeymoon in one of the many privately owned cabins. The tourism kept the quaint small town busy.
Harper’s father had struck gold when he’d become a Realtor and talked property owners into renting their lake cabins out to tourists. Of course that was when her mama founded the rental company, monopolizing the industry. That was one of the reasons Harper spent so much time at the farm. Her parents were always either showing a house or meeting some renter and Harper had to stay somewhere. She didn’t mind.
The farm was more like home. It was more like home than her parents’ house. And everyone came to visit the Coach. None of them would call first, and that was the way the Coach liked it. There was always someone around.
“Now what?” Harper asked herself and walked down toward the dock.
The dock was still there and intact. A few of the boards had rooted and needed to be replaced, but that would be easy. She had watched her papaw replace things around the farm, the dock included, so she had a few handy skills.
You are going to fix this place up. That is what you are going to do, Harper told herself and brushed her hands down her sweatpants. Good distraction, she told herself. It wasn’t like she had anyplace to go or rush back to. The only thing she dreaded was going to visit with her mama and daddy.
Failing at her marriage was hard enough on her, but the thought that she had failed her family was equally hard. She was in no mood to hear the old I-told-you-so from her mama.
She looked back over the lake and remembered what this place used to look like. She began to nod her head.
Yep. Fixing up this farm is exactly what I need to keep my mind occupied until I decide what I need to do with my life. She put her hands on her hips and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, letting it fill her lungs.
She closed her eyes and slowly let the steady stream of air come out of her mouth, feeling a sense of calm come over her, clearing her head, and mentally put a to-do list in order as she walked back to the house.
First she would shower, grab food from somewhere because the garden wasn’t an option, visit the Coach, and then she’d do the hardest visit of all: her parents.
Harper had her work cut out for her. The first thing she needed to do was dig out the spare key from underneath the cement stone she had made for her papaw from Girl Scouts to get her craft badge. He had told her it would always be in the flower garden, next to the first step leading up to the covered porch. He’d told her it was there for her to be able to come and go as she pleased and not have to fool with a set of keys.
God, please be here. She parted the weeds and felt around. She grinned when she blindly felt the cement paver. She knew it was the right one because she had used extra cement around a small baseball she had gotten out of the coin toy vending machine that stood at the door in Trudy’s. It was perfect marketing placement for all the kids who walked by and had a hissy fit when their parents wouldn’t give them a quarter to put in the machine for the prize in the plastic bubble to pop out. Of course Harper never had to ask for a dime. The Coach automatically handed her the coin, rubbed her head, and told her to get a prize.
Many kids whose parents wouldn’t let them get a toy would point to young Harper and begin to throw a fit, screaming, “She got one! Why can’t I?”
Young Harper would stand and watch as the kid’s mama or daddy would jerk their arm and tell the kid, “I’ll put a knot in your butt if you don’t come on.” Or Harper’s personal favorite, “I’ll give you something to cry about.” The kid was dragged out of Trudy’s kicking and screaming and usually stuck his tongue out at Harper as he passed. The Coach would pat young Harper’s head and tell her to keep her nose out of other people’s business. It wasn’t their lawn to cut.
Young Harper would simply smile and sway her shoulders to and fro.
“Yes!” Harper’s hand felt the plastic baseball and used her hands to part the tall weeds to expose the homemade paver.
She had to use a little more strength than she wanted when she plucked some of the weeds out to help clear around the stone.
Worms curled in the rick limestone soil when she picked up the stone, ignoring the moss that had taken years to cover it. Another thing to do on her to-do list. It would clean right up and look just as good as the first day she’d given it to him.
She put the stone down in the tall grass near her feet and used the pads of her fingers to dig around, though not too deep because the pink key box that held the key wasn’t buried too deep.
The steps up to the porch let out a groan with each step she took. Nothing a few whacks with a hammer on the nailheads that were popping up due to the contraction between the seasons wouldn’t fix.
The memories of her adolescent years ruffled through her mind like wind over water as she looked across the large front porch where she’d spent many long, hot summer days with a big glass of sweet iced tea and a book in her hand, lying on the chaise lounge in the corner of the porch that was now covered with brittle, dried leaves still left over from the last year’s fall and soon to be this year’s leaves.
It made her wonder how long the Coach had been a resident in Sunshine. If it had been the last six months, like the returned letters suggested, it would make sense why the farm was so overgrown. But what about her parents? Why hadn’t they kept up such a treasure?
Fighting the urge to clean the lounger, she headed straight to the wooden screen door. She reached out and watched her hand curl around the handle of the door and tug on it.
She smiled and remembered with pleasure just how much she loved the squeak of the hinges as the door opened and closed. That sweet sound was something she wouldn’t fix. She used the heel of her foot to hold it open while she put the key in the lock and jiggled it. The white paint on the nine glass panel wood door was peeling off in big chips, making it look like it had been created to look that way. Harper had been watching lots of HGTV. The cottage look was definitely the new trend with homeowners.
She pushed the door wide open and let the glow of the sun burst through the entry, showing all the dust on the hardwood floors. That didn’t scare her off or make her regret she was there.
She walked in and took a long, deep inhale. The smell of dust couldn’t cover up the familiar smell of her grandfather’s life. She loved the smell of musk and cooked food. She put her hand on the wall and dragged it down, knowing the wallpaper held the smell she loved so much, stopping at the old push button light switch that turned on the small crystal chandelier that hung in the middle of the entry.
She pushed the top one, and when the light didn’t turn on, she pushed the second one. Then tried each one again. Nothing. After jiggling and pushing harder, they still didn’t work, so she chalked it up to the old switch being broken. Shrugging it off, she walked into the room on the right, where she had spent many nights watching the old antenna television. The large bay window curtains were pulled to, so the rest of the world was outside.
With her hands grasping the edges of the curtains in the middle of the window, she flung them open, sending the dust bunnies flying off in large clumps into the air.
Covering her mouth and coughing, she stood looking at the filmy window. She drew a heart in the dust with her finger.
Windows definitely need a wipe down. She put it on her ever-growing mental to-do list.
Harper sighed and turned around to get a good look. The original interior clapboard walls, single-pane windows, door hardware, and heart pine floors were still intact, and she could live with that.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hands before planting them on her hips. What was first? The furniture was covered in sheets. The floors, walls, and any exposed furniture was covered in dust. If she wanted something to take her mind off her life, she definitely had that something.
She jerked th
e yellow sheet off the couch. The shriek of a creature screamed out, causing Harper to jump and scream herself. The creature darted under the couch.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Harper held her hands to her heart, hoping and praying it wasn’t a raccoon.
The last time she’d come face-to-face with something up in the fireplace and in this very room was so vivid and close. The Coach had called her to come over with her boyfriend, Brett Barrett, to get the birds out of the fireplace. It wasn’t unusual for birds to gather in a chimney during the warm summer months. There had been some activity in the chimney and Brett was always helping the Coach around the farm.
She stood behind Brett with a net to catch the birds in case they came into the house instead of flying up the flue.
“Don’t let the bird fly into this house.” The Coach held a bedsheet behind them, dancing back and forth on the balls of his feet. “A bird in the house means death. I once saw it with my own two eyes.” She had fond memories of how the Coach believed in different old wives’ tales.
You could imagine their surprise when Brett poked the stick up the chimney and a family full of coons popped out into the family rug, gnashing, gnawing, and clawing in front of them.
Harper knew if she didn’t get the coon out of the couch, there might be a repeat of the frightful night so long ago when they’d had to wait the raccoons out because animal control couldn’t get them either. She was not prepared for a repeat.
She bent down to get a look at the coon to make sure it was only one. The big green eyes looking back at her belonged to a gray-striped cat. The cat’s eyes narrowed and it scooted back toward the back of the couch, butt up against the wall.
“Cat.” Harper happily sighed with relief. “Fine. You and I can just live among each other until I get you out of here.”
There was no way the cat was the Coach’s because he hadn’t lived there in a while, so it had to have gotten in somehow. She walked through the house, each room as dusty and dirty as the one before, until she made it into the kitchen. The back door was wide open, the perfect entry for a stray to waltz right on in.
She shut the door and glanced around the kitchen. Her work was cut out for her, but she wasn’t sure how to handle it. The reality of her situation was setting in. She pulled the wood kitchen chair from the table and sat down. The cat had followed her and sat staring back at Harper from the threshold of the kitchen and the hallway door.
“I’m a mess. You don’t want to hang around me.” Harper was talking to the cat like it was human. “First I caught my husband cheating on me. I burned down the house. Probably fired from my job. Got sent off to the loony bin. My papaw broke me out of the joint in the middle of the night because he saw me on the television. I find out he’s got dementia. And now this.” She threw her hands in the air. The cat continued to stare. “The best memory of my childhood is a big mess.”
“I thought I might be the best memory.” The voice came from behind Harper.
She jumped up, sticking her fists out in front of her like she was going to take down whoever was there.
“Poppy.” The man looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and a slightly one-sided smile, a dingy John Deere hat pulled down over his forehead. A white V-neck, dotted with sweat down the middle, was half-tucked into a pair of muggy Levi’s. The tip of cowboy boots stuck out from the bottom leg hems. “Scooter told me you were back in town.”
“So you thought you’d come here and see for yourself?” Harper’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen Brett since the night she wanted to forget. “Thank you.” She pulled her hands back down to her sides. “I’m not accepting visitors right now.”
“I’m not here to visit. I’m here to catch that.” He pointed toward the cat, keeping his eyes on her.
He had beautiful, golden brown eyes with the longest black lashes. She had always teased him about how girls would do anything to have his lashes. He would bat them at her just to tease her. He didn’t do that today.
He took one step forward the cat. It darted between his legs and out the door before he could grab it.
“So you work for the animal shelter?” She avoided looking at the handsomely rugged lover from her past, whom she noticed had gotten a lot more handsome with time; her eyes were drawn to his hand, where there was not any sort of ring or hint that a ring had been.
There was no way Brett hadn’t been snatched up. Or maybe he was one of those guys who didn’t wear a ring.
“Something like that.” His eyes seemed to drink in every last drop standing before him, causing her to shift uneasily. It would be like Brett to have a noble job. He’d always loved animals and he was never going to leave this town. He was as rooted in Hudson Hollow as the old oak tree out front.
His eyes were drawn to her hand, where she had placed the pink diamond, and he sucked in a deep breath.
“Scooter has a big mouth.” Harper ran her hand over her ponytailed hair, hoping to get his eyes off the ring.
Of all the people to run into, it had to be him. The one she really didn’t want to run into, or if she did, she’d wanted to be completely fixed up first.
“You know Scooter.” He laughed. The lines around his eyes deepened.
She noticed again that Brett was still so handsome. His teeth were still beautiful, covered by a fantastic smile.
And he was still wearing a ball cap.
“Yeah, he puts his nose in everyone’s business.” Harper walked over, nearly passing out when Brett ’s familiar smell caught her off guard.
Brett smiled.
Damn, she groaned inwardly, seeing his good smile, and it warmed her.
“I’m sure you need to go grab that cat. It looks like it’s fierce and needs to get off the streets,” Harper joked and tried her hardest not to give him eye contact. The least contact with anyone in Hudson Hollow the best. Especially Brett. She planted her hand on the edge of the door, her subtle way of telling him he had overstayed his welcome.
Chapter Ten
Gross. Harper groaned at her own reflection from the kitchen window. And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. She started to laugh. If she didn’t, she’d start crying all over again and that was not on her to-do list.
She looked like a two-bit whore trying to fix herself up for church with her dark roots. But she couldn’t worry about that now. What was done was done. She was just glad Brett hadn’t asked her about her life or about setting her house on fire and everything that proceeded after that.
It didn’t matter. A catch like Brett had to have been gobbled up by someone. Last Harper had heard, he’d gone off to college.
Harper walked back through the house to look out the front door. She wanted to make sure Brett was gone before she started on her mental to-do list. At the top of this list were a shower and some food. The shower would be easy, but the food probably not because no one was living there.
The cat was sitting at the front porch screen door staring at her when she walk down the hallway. Harper opened the door and the cat ran in like she owned the place.
“Listen, I don’t have money to feed me and you,” Harper said and looked up when the knock of the diesel kicked in and Brett drove off in a big black Dodge pickup.
She turned back to see the cat, but it was gone. She walked back into the room on the right and flipped on the television switch. It was about time for the national talk shows to come on, and if she was on the Enquirer, they might have a segment on the news about her.
The television didn’t flip on. She tried a couple of times before giving up and walked over to the side table to turn on the lamp. Nothing.
She walked into the kitchen again and tried turning on the gas stove. That was when it hit her that someone had probably turned off the breaker.
Of course. She felt so stupid. I’ll just march downstairs and flip it back on.
The cat sat in front of the basement door, staring at her.
“And maybe you can go with me.” A flicker of apprehension cour
sed through her as she opened the door and the cold, damp, dark basement reached out to her soul. She slammed the door shut and decided she’d wait until the sun was fully out and shining through all the windows.
“What are you looking at?” Harper glared at the cat, who seemed to be amused and was watching her keenly. “I hate the dark,” she said, as if she had to explain to the animal. “Besides, I guess I’m going to have to go to the store.” Harper had limited funds. She could use the cash stuck in the Bible but feared she might have to use that on some of the repairs if she was going to stay here for a while.
She still had an old credit card she’d used in college with a five-thousand-dollar limit she’d be able to use in a pinch if she had to, though she knew Sid and Rob’s people were probably trying to find her. Though no one really knew about the credit card and it was tied to her real name, she didn’t want to take any chances of them finding out where she was. “And I hope the Coach has some money in the spot.”
Harper headed out the back door and walked to the barn where she knew the Coach would hide money for her. She’d found the little stash of cash when she would come over and muck the stalls for him when she was in high school, but those days were long gone. He’d gotten rid of the horses before she had even graduated and she’d never gone back to check on the can. By that time she was working as a part-time cashier at the Foodtown grocery store.
The barn doors were easy to slide open.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes filled with tears when the sunlight poured in the barn. Her 1965 Mustang convertible was sitting right there, as if the Coach knew it was going to need to be waiting for her.
Harper ran her hand down the side, reliving the feeling of the first time she’d ever touched it. When she cuddled her hand around the handle, she hesitated. Through the window, she saw the can sitting on the driver’s seat.
She opened the car door and picked up the old Folgers coffee can. The Coach always kept used cans to store his bacon grease. A good meal around these parts included bacon grease as a main ingredient. Harper’s mouth watered at the thought of the Coach’s famous wilted lettuce.