Trust My Heart

by Carol J. Post

  He picked up his sandwich. “Sounds like you’re talking about Bernie. I get the impression she’s a character.”

  Jami rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. She’s made it her personal mission to make sure everyone within a ten-mile radius of downtown Murphy has found their special someone.”

  Grant nodded. “I figured that out within a few minutes of meeting her.”

  “The problem is she’s not very good at it.” Sam grinned. “I’ve been on the receiving end of those matchmaking schemes more times than I can count.”

  Holly gave her a sympathetic smile. “Jami has, too. I used to feel so sorry for you two. Wherever she dug up these guys, she was scraping the bottom of the barrel.” She shook her head. “I was blessed. I somehow escaped Bernie’s notice.”

  Sam frowned at her. “That’s because Bernie didn’t think you needed any help.”

  No one could argue with that. All her years at Murphy High, Holly had boys flock to her, unable to resist the silky blonde hair, blue eyes and million-dollar smile. She never left home without making sure her makeup was flawless and her hair was straightened and brushed to a fine sheen. But the primping hadn’t been needed. She’d always been pretty without it. Now, at twenty-two, it was graduate school instead of high school and hot rollers instead of a straightening iron. Although she probably still spent as much time on her appearance as most students spend studying, she’d mastered the art of making it look effortless.

  Holly waved away the compliment. “One thing we can all agree on is that, at almost fifty-eight years old, Bernie’s not likely to change.”

  Grant’s gaze shifted to the bar, where the object of their conversation was eagerly devouring a Danish. “She must be happily married.”

  “No.” Samantha and Holly spoke at the same time, and Sam continued. “Never has been. I haven’t even known her to date.”

  “Sam’s right,” Jami said. “She’s too busy playing matchmaker for everyone else.”

  Grant raised his brows. “That’s a little hypocritical. Have you ever considered turning the tables on her?”

  Holly’s eyes widened, and a slow grin spread across her face. “I love it. We can do some matchmaking of our own.”

  Sam rubbed her hands together. “Bernie and Hank.”

  “Hank?” Grant’s brows went up a second time. “The guy in the overalls sitting next to her at the bar? They act like they can’t stand each other.”

  Jami smiled. It was fun including Grant in their scheming. “We think it’s an act, that they really have a secret crush on each other.”

  Holly took a bite of pastry, then talked around it. “So how are we going to get them together? We can’t just set up a blind date.”

  Jami thought for a moment. “Bernie’s birthday is a week from Friday. What do you say we start with flowers? We can have them delivered to the paper, make her think they’re from a secret admirer.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Holly again lowered her voice. “So what do we put on the card?”

  Sam didn’t hesitate. “Roses are red, violets are blue. I can’t go on if I don’t have you.”

  Grant shook his head. “Based on the short exchange at the bar, that doesn’t sound like Hank at all.”

  “How about this?” Holly said. “My love for you is immense. When you’re near, the sun is always shining—”

  “And when you’re far away,” Sam cut in, keeping the same dramatic tone Holly had used, “heavy, black clouds overshadow the sky.”

  Jami giggled. “You guys aren’t any help at all. If it’s too mushy, she’ll know it’s a prank.”

  Grant leaned forward. “How about this? From someone who thinks you’re one special lady.”

  “Perfect.” Sam held up her juice bottle in a toast. “To scheming.”

  Grant raised his mug, and Holly followed. “To love.”

  “To love,” Jami repeated. And the clink of porcelain and glass sealed it.

  FOUR

  Grant stepped under the red awning of ShoeBooties Café and drew in a deep breath, savoring the mouthwatering smells. He’d discovered some decent restaurants during his four days in Murphy, and it looked like ShoeBooties was going to be another one to add to the list.

  When he stepped inside, the hostess smiled at him. Sara, according to her name tag. “One?”

  He nodded. He was used to eating alone, even at home. Usually he read or perused files he’d brought from the office. Tonight he had his iPad, along with a mental list of what he hoped to accomplish. What he didn’t get finished there, he would do when he got back to his room.

  The young woman led him to a two-person booth in the corner. In the center of the table, a tea candle burned inside a red glass vase. It was the perfect setting for a romantic evening out. There was even live music, a young man playing a keyboard a few feet away.

  But there wouldn’t be any romancing going on at his table. He would spend the next hour reading e-mails and reviewing documents. Janet, his paralegal, had been in touch every day since he left New York, helping to ensure the transition went smoothly. Today was no exception. She’d texted him earlier in the afternoon, so he already knew what he would find when he opened his e-mail—trial management conference notes, a settlement offer and a couple of briefs.

  All his cases had been farmed out to other lawyers in his firm. Preparing someone to take over the newer ones had been easy. The ones approaching trial were the challenge—files bulging with motions and notices and mounds of discovery. But Janet had been with him since day one and was making the whole process as painless as possible. During his week back, he would tie up any loose ends.

  Then he’d be ready to take off. Hopefully everyone at the firm would be ready to move forward without him. He’d still have his phone and iPad, which would make him easily reachable. But he’d rather they not use them.

  After Sara walked away, he flipped the cover back on his iPad. He’d just pulled up his e-mail when an excited squeal cut into his thoughts. “Jami, girl! When did you get back?”

  Jami? He looked up from his device. Relax. There were probably dozens of Jamis in Murphy. At least a handful or two.

  As he waited, Sara stepped around the wall separating the dining area from the entrance. Jami was right behind her. The Cherokee Scout Jami. She’d probably followed him there. Or trolled the streets of downtown, looking for his car. Maybe he should have chosen something less conspicuous.

  He ignored the sudden lightness in his chest and heaved a sigh. His trip to Murphy wasn’t going at all as he’d planned. Not only was he being relentlessly pursued for an interview, he was a victim in some crazy lady’s matchmaking scheme. One that had no hope of success. A quirky, free-spirited soul like Jami wasn’t likely to be interested in a stick-in-the-mud New York City lawyer.

  And she wasn’t exactly his type, either. The few women he’d dated had been cultured, with elegant grace and a cool beauty. Women who roamed the upper echelons of society as if they were born to it. Like Bethany. Though look where that relationship had gotten him.

  Jami was nothing like his ex-wife. She possessed a special blend of blunt honesty, wry humor, and obvious contentment with who she was. And a guy would have to be blind to not be drawn in by her warm smile and expressive eyes.

  He shook off the thoughts. Tall, stately and sophisticated or short, quirky and down-to-earth—it made no difference. Hell would freeze over before he would once again be ready to risk his heart or his bank account.

  Sara turned to Jami. “Table or booth?”

  Jami looked around the restaurant, then pointed his direction. “Booth. That one.” Without waiting to be seated, she made a beeline for his table.

  Great, now he wouldn’t get anything done. He stifled a snort. Who was he kidding? He’d worked most of the day at his grandmother’s place, and when the entire afternoon had passed without Jami intruding, he’d been disappointed.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He quirked a bro
w at her. “I was right. You are stalking me.”

  “I already told you I was. May I sit?”

  He motioned toward the opposite bench. “Are you planning to follow me back to New York?”

  “Nope.” Her lips were turned up in one of those sassy smiles. “I’m planning to get the interview before you leave, so I won’t have to.”

  “You’re awfully confident.”

  “No, just determined.”

  Before she could sit, a waitress approached and gave her as enthusiastic of a welcome as Sara had, complete with a hug. Judging from what he’d seen at the Grind that morning, Jami was well liked by the people of Murphy. He wasn’t surprised. That quick wit and enthusiasm were like magnets, drawing people to her. He’d been caught in the pull himself, which probably wasn’t a good thing.

  The waitress took their drink orders, and Grant watched her walk away. “You called her Aunt Lily. Is she really your aunt, or is that an affectionate title?”

  “She’s my aunt. While I was growing up, she and my mom had a bed-and-breakfast together. Through my teen years I helped out on weekends. I really enjoyed it—hanging out with my mom and aunt, interacting with the guests. Having spending money was pretty cool, too.” She sighed, and a sense of nostalgia seemed to settle over her. “Several times since then, I’ve thought about how cool it would be to open one myself someday.”

  “What happened to your mom and aunt’s place?”

  “After my mom got sick the first time, they sold it.”

  “Does your mom live here in Murphy?”

  “She did.” Pain filled her eyes. “She died a year ago. Breast cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her chin. “Thanks, but we had a lot of good times. She knew where she was going, and I think she left this life without a single regret.”

  “That’s more than a lot of people can say.” He tried to keep the hardness from his tone, but it seeped in anyway. It happened every time he thought of his grandparents. “What about your father? Is he still alive?”

  She looked over at him and shrugged. “I have no idea. He walked out on us when I was in the third grade. My mom was pushing him to get help, but he decided he’d rather give up his family than his booze.”

  He studied her while she spoke. The bitterness he expected to hear in her tone wasn’t there. Instead she just sounded resigned. “You don’t seem angry.”

  Lily approached with their drinks, then took their orders. After she left, Jami stared into the flickering flame and traced a small figure eight on the polished wooden surface of the table.

  “When I realized he wasn’t coming back, I was crushed. For the next two years, every birthday and the whole week before Christmas, I would eagerly check the mail and wait by the phone, sure he’d finally remember me.”

  “Did he?”

  “Nope, not once.” She continued her smooth, slow pattern, around and around. “Finally when my tenth birthday passed with no card or phone call, I dried my eyes and decided I wasn’t going to shed another tear for him. I thought I was all grown up, you know, double digits. After that night I never cried for him again, and through my teen years, I hated him.”

  “What changed? You must have gotten past it at some point.”

  “I have my mom to thank for that.” She finally met his eyes, her face alight with love and gratitude. “She was forgiveness personified, an awesome example. For years, she prayed for me. Finally, everything she’d been telling me sank in, and I realized I was only hurting myself. He has to answer for what he did, but I have to answer for my reaction to what he did. When I finally let go of the anger, it was as if a big weight had been lifted off me. Now when I think about him, I’m just sad.”

  He shook his head. How could a man walk away from a daughter like Jami? “I’m sorry. I never knew my father, but he didn’t leave by choice.”

  “It’s okay. My mom did a great job filling the role of both parents. Of course, she had a little help. Besides my aunt and uncle and cousins, the church people really took us under their wings when my dad left. I always felt like part of a big, loving family.”

  He nodded, an odd emptiness settling inside, the sense he’d missed out on something special. His mother had filled the dual role well, too, but she’d done it alone. At least from the time he was four years old and they moved to New York. There’d been no loving church family to offer encouragement and support. Just random Christians whose faith was nothing but talk, like the wealthy McAllisters who kept their hands fisted and refused contact with a hurting widow. The landlord who claimed to be a saint, then trumped up repairs so he could keep their security deposit. Even Bethany. She and her parents had gone every Sunday. It was a large church, with lots of wealthy members. He’d gone a couple of times. It had felt more like belonging to a club. Apparently that was all the effect attendance had on his former in-laws, too, because instead of acknowledging their daughter’s wrongs, they’d taken her side on everything.

  Maybe there was a level of compassion and generosity among some church people, but he certainly hadn’t seen it.

  “How is everything going, the house and all?” Jami’s words pulled him back to the present.

  “Slow. I’d hoped to be further along by now.” At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t even be finished with the first floor by the time he left on Thursday. And he’d found nothing belonging to his father. It was as if Gary McAllister had never existed. “How about your article?”

  “Aside from the stubborn, bullheaded grandson?” She gave him a crooked grin. “It’s going well. I got some great information from Hilda Parker. She was head librarian for about twenty years. She’s ancient now, but she’s got the mind of a thirty-year-old.”

  “Good.” He didn’t feel so guilty holding out on her if she’d be able to get the information for her article elsewhere.

  “She’s rounding up some pictures for me. Her son used to play with your dad when he would come during summers and holidays.”

  His pulse picked up. “She has pictures of my dad?”

  “She’s pretty sure she does. I was planning to give you copies of whatever she can find.”

  “Thank you. My mom has only one album of photos with him.” Throughout his childhood he’d pored over and over them, wishing he could make the man in the images materialize before him, if not in real life, in his dreams. Occasionally he did. “In all the pictures we have, he’s an adult.”

  As Lily placed a garden salad in front of each of them, excitement coursed through him. Four days of searching had gotten him nowhere, but Jami had already hit the jackpot. And she had planned to share with him whatever she obtained, not in exchange for him granting her an interview, but because she knew what it would mean to him.

  He stabbed a forkful of salad. She was right. He was stubborn and bullheaded, even though she’d said it with a teasing smile. He couldn’t head back to New York without giving her anything for her story.

  “When did you want to come out and take your photos?” Four days, and he was already throwing up the white flag of surrender. No, not surrender. Just a little give-and-take.

  “I wasn’t trying to bribe you with Hilda’s photos. I was planning to get those for you anyway. Now, the chocolate chip cookies . . .” She flashed him a teasing grin. “Those were a bribe.”

  He returned her smile. “You’re welcome to take all the pictures you want. But I’m afraid I won’t be much help as far as an interview. I don’t know anything.”

  “You can tell me about yourself.”

  No way was he going anywhere near that. “I’m not a very interesting person.”

  “The people of Murphy would find you interesting. I don’t even know what you do.”

  “CIA agent.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “No. You’re pretty gullible, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not. I just haven’t figured you out yet. So seriously, what do you do?”

  “I’m a
defense attorney representing insurance companies. See, I told you I was boring.”

  “Do you play any musical instruments, or are you involved in any athletics?”

  He smiled. Funny how easily she’d slipped into interview mode. “I used to play French horn but haven’t picked it up in a while. And no athletics, unless you count my home gym.”

  “What about family? Based on what Bernie told me, there’s no Mrs. McAllister back home.”

  “Nope. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. Then had to mortgage it to pay for my mistake.”

  She grimaced and shot him a sympathetic smile. “That bad.”

  “Every bit. And that’s all I’m telling you.” Of course, she could do an Internet search of his name and pull up the entire scoop.

  “How about if I come over tomorrow? I can be there around nine.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She stabbed her last bite of salad but instead of bringing it to her mouth, gestured with it as she spoke. “So how did the meeting with your Realtor go?”

  “Pretty well. But she doesn’t expect a quick sale.”

  “And Vanguard?” Something told him the nonchalant tone she managed took some effort.

  “It went well. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and we’re closing on the place in thirty days.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her face fell with it. “You’re selling to Durham Vanguard?”

  “You are gullible. Adorably so, I might add.”

  “I am not gullible. I just keep forgetting there’s a wry sense of humor hiding beneath all the sternness.”

  “So you think I’m stern.”

  “Stern and gruff. Cocky at first, but I’m amending my opinion on that one.” The bite that had traveled around on her fork finally made it to her mouth, and she followed it with a swig of iced tea.

  “Stern, gruff and cocky. I’m not sure what to think of that.”

  Lily came to remove their plates. When she left them alone again, he continued.