by Irene Hannon
“And next year will be even better.”
“Seems that way.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe people are paying twenty-five dollars a pop for these cakes.”
“I told you they would—as long as we positioned them as a high-quality, high-end treat. That ‘handcrafted in small batches . . . from our home to yours’ tagline you came up with is a winner.”
“But you’re the one who got the word out with your great sales and marketing skills. You deserve a huge chunk of the credit for our success—and also for the success of Helping Hands. I reviewed those numbers last night too. There’s sufficient donor and grant money coming in now to not only fund the program but pay a part-time director.”
“Things have gone well.”
“Better than well.” She twined her fingers with his. “It’s about time you got some compensation for all the hours you’ve put into building our humble little let’s-help-our-neighbors program into an organized effort that will benefit hundreds of people. Maybe thousands.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. Helping Hands was on his list of topics to discuss with her today—but it wasn’t the most important one. Nor was this the place for that conversation.
“Can you get away for a quick lunch?”
“Yes. Anna has everything under control here. That woman is a dynamo—and she has amazing organizational skills. Besides, I need to swing by the cottage and change. This outfit might look nice on camera”—she swept a hand over the gray slacks that hugged her trim hips and the soft wool sweater that matched her green irises—“but jeans are much better for real work. Give me a sec while I tell her I’m cutting out.”
Michael waited as the two women held a quick conference. Anna glanced his way during the exchange, her eyes twinkling, then waved Tracy toward the door. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but whatever the older woman said brought a becoming flush to Tracy’s cheeks.
Sixty seconds later, she’d ditched her apron, grabbed her jacket, and joined him. He held it while she slipped her arms inside.
“Where do you want to get lunch?” She zipped up the front.
Taking her arm, he guided her toward the door. “Why don’t we see if Charley’s is open today?”
She examined the blue sky as they walked toward his car. “He might be. It must be close to sixty.”
“Yeah. I’ll take this over a Chicago December any day.”
“I’m glad you like it here, Michael.”
At her soft, earnest comment, he pulled her close for a reassuring squeeze, then opened the car door. “I don’t just like it. I love it. In fact, I . . .”
No.
He needed to save those words until the right moment—and the right place.
And the high school parking lot wasn’t it.
He kept the conversation light during the short drive, slipping into a parking spot a few doors down from Sweet Dreams.
Tracy hopped out before he could get her door, grinning at him across the roof. “This is about where we met, you know.”
“Not the best beginning.”
“But the ending was happy.”
And it was about to get happier.
He hoped.
“True. Now let’s get those tacos. Any minute now, Charley could decide to shut down and go play artist for the rest of the day.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her across the street and gave her a nudge toward the bench where he’d met Anna. “Why don’t you claim that for us while I place the order?”
She surveyed the deserted wharf. “I don’t think we have to worry about beating off a crowd.”
“You never know. There could be a sudden rush.”
“Ya think?” She gave him her teasing smile. The one that lit up her face and never failed to inspire a soul-deep gratitude for the gift he’d received the day she’d cycled into his life. “Of course, Charley does have a legion of fans. A hungry horde could show up at any minute. No worries—I’ll throw myself across the bench and fend off any interlopers while you go get our food.”
He watched as she moved down the sidewalk with her characteristic lithe grace, head held high, focus trained on the distant horizon. She was a beautiful woman—inside and out. Despite all the sorrow and challenges that had been her lot, her smile was ready, her heart warm, her foundation of faith and values solid.
She was the kind of woman any man would treasure as a partner for life.
And if he was lucky, that was exactly the role she would play in his.
Very, very soon.
Tracy claimed the bench Michael had asked her to secure, then checked out the taco stand. No one else was in line on this December Saturday, despite the pleasant weather. Their food would be up fast.
And that was fine. With the orders for cranberry nut cake pouring in, she’d been running at warp speed and burning up calories for weeks. At this rate, they’d be busy up to the last shipping date before Christmas.
Thanks, in large part, to Michael.
She watched him as he spoke with Charley. She might have discovered a latent talent for PR, but he was phenomenal at business. He’d made contacts, lined up publicity, tracked down suppliers and negotiated favorable terms, overseen the development of an amazing website—the list was endless.
Not to mention the fact that the original idea was his too.
The conversation between the two men was too quiet to hear from this far away, but both appeared relaxed and happy. Especially Michael.
What a change from the tense, troubled man who’d sent her bicycle—and her life—veering off course almost seven months ago.
But she loved her new direction . . . and the man who’d steered her toward it.
Resting one arm along the back of the bench, she savored her new, soul-deep contentment that was as constant and dependable as the tide. Day by day, with his kindness and compassion and strength and intelligence and humor and tenderness and so many other things, Michael had buoyed her spirits and filled her heart with love and hope.
And one of these days—soon, she hoped—perhaps he’d realize it was time to move past the slow and cautious course they’d plotted and take a leap of faith.
He turned toward her, as if sensing her perusal, and she lifted her hand.
Instead of waiting for their order, he picked up the two bottles of water Charley had set on the counter and joined her.
“Charley said he’d bring the order over when it’s ready. Slow day, apparently.”
She scooted closer to him as he sat. “A little on the cool side too. Mind if I steal some of your body heat?”
“Is that a come-on, Ms. Campbell?” He handed her a bottle of water, draped his arm over her shoulders, and drew her close.
“Maybe.” She snuggled into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Too bad we don’t have a little more privacy.”
Chuckling, he uncapped his bottle and took a swig. “Hold that thought for later. In the meantime . . . I met with Father Kevin and Reverend Baker this morning.”
She watched a fishing boat cross the harbor toward the wharf, gulls circling in its wake. “Some new crisis with Helping Hands?” With the organization in his capable hands, no need to worry like she used to.
“I wouldn’t call it a crisis. More like a change.”
Some nuance in his inflection put her on alert, and she straightened up to look at him. “What kind of change?”
“Making me permanent part-time instead of temporary part-time. After running the show for the past few months, I think the job can be done on that basis indefinitely—which will leave me plenty of time to work on farm business. What do you think?”
“I think it’s great! I bet they did too.”
One side of his mouth slanted up. “Father Kevin said he felt as if a yoke had been lifted from around his neck . . . and Reverend Baker promptly told him their yoke might be easier, but getting rid of it wasn’t an option. They were still debating a verse from Matthew when they left to play golf.”
S
he snickered. “That sounds like them.”
“Two orders of fish tacos coming up.” Charley stopped beside them, a brown bag in each hand.
“We could have come over for these.” Tracy inhaled the savory aroma as the man handed her a bag.
“Not a problem. It’s been quiet today—so far.” Charley winked and strolled back toward the taco stand.
Tracy watched him over her shoulder. “What was that all about? And why did he give us separate bags?”
Michael shrugged. “Charley marches to the beat of his own drummer. Dig in.”
She didn’t need any prodding. Not with the appetizing aroma activating her salivary glands.
Letting Michael carry the bulk of the conversation, Tracy focused on her food, mumbling brief answers when necessary while she chewed. Only after she dug to the bottom of the bag to pull out her third taco did she come up for air—and discover he was still on his first.
“Aren’t you hungry?” She gestured to his bag as she started to peel back the paper.
“I had a big breakfast.”
“That’s never stopped you in the past. You usually beat me to the finish.”
“I’ll get there. Go ahead, eat up. You don’t want that to get cold.” He motioned toward her half-unwrapped taco.
She studied him. Some . . . odd . . . vibes were wafting her way. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He picked up his taco and took a big bite as if to prove it.
Hmm.
What wasn’t he telling her?
She finished unwrapping her taco, folded back the white paper . . . and froze.
A diamond solitaire in a gold band, encased in plastic wrap, sparkled at her from the top of her taco.
“Remember when I said a few months back that I thought our partnership was going to go way beyond business?”
At the husky question, she lifted her chin and searched Michael’s blue eyes. “Yes.” Her response came out in a croak.
“I’d like to make that official. So I had Charley add some extra spice to your order.”
She glanced over Michael’s shoulder to find the taco man watching them, elbows propped on the counter, smile splitting his face. He gave her a thumbs-up.
“I figured since everything that’s happened in Hope Harbor began on this bench, it was a fitting place to propose.”
Tracy jerked her focus back to the man beside her.
Apparently he was as anxious as she was to leave slow and cautious behind.
Hallelujah!
Heart soaring, she unwrapped the ring with shaking fingers. “Yes.”
A couple of beats of silence ticked by.
“You’re making this too easy.”
Her fingers stilled, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Oh. I bet you had a speech prepared.”
A teasing light glinted in his eyes. “That . . . plus some backup arguments and action plans in case you balked.”
“Yeah?” She fingered the ring. The sun caught the facets and sent off sparks that put last summer’s Fourth of July fireworks to shame. “What kind of action plans?”
“Very persuasive ones. But I guess I don’t have to use them.” He plucked the ring from her. “Shall I slip it on?”
She shoved her hands under her thighs. “Uh-uh. I want you to give me your speech and tell me more about those action plans.”
Closing his fingers around the ring, he set his food aside and took her hand, all humor vanishing from his demeanor. “Should I get down on one knee?”
He was serious.
Her throat tightened, and she shook her head. “No. Side by side is fine for proposing—and for life.”
“I like how you think, Tracy Campbell.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “The truth is, I like everything about you. Your warmth and kindness and sense of humor and courage and strength and faith and so much more. All the qualities that led me to this moment. To knowing I want to spend the rest of my life beside you, making you my priority, giving you all the love that’s in my heart.” His last word rasped, and he paused.
She wasn’t feeling any too steady herself.
“I had no idea what I would find in Hope Harbor after I made that long trek west.” Michael locked gazes with her. “All I knew was that my soul was parched. Dying. Then I met you . . . and everything changed. You refreshed my life. And for as long as I live, I’ll give thanks every single day for the gifts of love and healing God had waiting for me here. So even though you’ve already given me your answer, I’ll make the proposal official. Will you marry me and let me spend the rest of my life filling yours with joy and love?”
Her vision misted, and she groped for the fingers he’d clenched around the ring. Peeled them back. Held out her left hand. “Yes—because God blessed me too the day you sent me tumbling into the street. At the time, I thought it was an accident. Now I realize it was a blessing in disguise.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, leaned close, and—
Squawk, squawk, squawk, squawk.
At the rude interruption, Tracy peeked to her left. Two seagulls stood on the rocks leading down to the water.
One of them was very familiar.
“Don’t tell me . . . Floyd is stalking you.” Michael kept his forehead pressed against hers.
“With his girlfriend in tow. I can’t believe . . .”
“Floyd! Get over here!” Charley called out the command in a stern tone she’d never heard him use. “And bring Gladys.”
“Gladys?” Mirth threaded through Michael’s voice.
“Don’t ask me. Floyd never introduced us.” She sighed. “It’s nice of Charley to try, but seagulls don’t . . .”
She stopped speaking as the two birds flapped into the air and coasted over to the taco stand, where Charley tossed them a few scraps.
Michael turned to watch the scene too. “That man has a magic touch with everything. But how does he know Floyd’s name?”
“I guess I must have mentioned it to him once.” Not that she recalled—but what other explanation could there be? “Besides, who cares? The important thing is they’re out of our hair.”
“Right.” He scooted closer. “Where were we?”
“I think you were about to implement an action plan.” She put her arms around his neck.
“How are you with public displays of affection?”
She did a quick sweep of the waterfront. “Floyd and Gladys and Charley are the only ones around. The birds are busy eating—and not much gets past Charley, anyway.”
“Good point.” He pulled her close. “But first . . . any thoughts on a wedding date?”
“Soon. During the slower season on the farm. I want to have lots of time to devote to us.”
“An excellent strategy. As for the slow season . . .” He gave her a roguish grin. “I think this year’s might be a bit livelier than usual. Ready for a preview?”
A tingle of excitement zipped through her. “More than.”
They leaned toward each other, meeting halfway. And in the moment before their lips met, in the instant before she lost herself in his kiss, gratitude overflowed in her heart.
For while Michael might have been the one who’d set out on a cross-country trek seeking answers, she too had finished a journey. She too had found a new beginning. She too had come home.
Right here in Hope Harbor.
What was that odd shimmer in the night sky?
Christy Reed crested the hill on the undulating rural road and peered at the eerie dome of light above the trees in the distance. On a chilly, clear November evening, the heavens should be pitch black save for the stars strewn across the inky firmament, not tainted by unnatural illumination.
The road dived again, the woods snuffing out her view of the mysterious glow. But the twinge of unease that had compelled her to head to her sister’s tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow intensified.
Pressing on the accelerator, she swooped through the dip in the road and shot up again.
>
At the peak of the next hill, her twinge of apprehension morphed to panic.
Flames were strafing the night sky—in the vicinity of her sister’s house.
Please, God, no! Not again! We can’t take any more trauma!
Smashing the accelerator to the floor, she plunged down the hill.
Only then did she notice the police cruiser at the bottom, angled sideways, blocking access to the narrow road that led to the Missouri farmhouse her sister called home.
She flinched as the harsh flashing lights strobed across her retinas. Lights that screamed emergency. Disaster. Trauma.
All the things that had changed her world forever six months ago.
Fingers clenched around the wheel, she sped toward the vehicle, screeching to a stop beside it.
As a uniformed officer emerged from the shadows and circled around to her side of the car, she fumbled for the auto window opener. Lowered the insulating sheet of glass. Inhaled the smoke-fouled air that leached into the car.
The coil of fear in the pit of her stomach tightened.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I need to get down that road.” Her last word hitched.
“Do you live that way?”
“No. My s-sister does.”
Twin furrows dented the man’s brow. “What’s her name?”
“Ginny R-Reed.”
“Hold on a minute.” He pulled his radio off his belt and melted back into the shadows.
Christy closed her eyes and clung to the wheel, shudders coursing through her.
Please, Lord, let there be some simple reason Ginny wasn’t answering her phones or returning calls all evening! A dead cell. An emergency at work. Anything that’s not connected to this fire.
“Ma’am?”
She jerked her eyes open.
“There’s a fire at your sister’s house. I’ll move my vehicle so you can get through. One of the officers at the scene will meet you.”
Her knuckles whitened as she struggled to suck in air. “Is she okay?”