Trust My Heart

by Carol J. Post

  Just before she reached him, she skidded to a stop, and her smile faded. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really. Is there something you think you should tell me?”

  She met his gaze, her own unwavering. She didn’t blink or look away or show any of the other signs of deceit. In fact, her eyes held only confusion. She was good.

  She tilted her head and tried to force a smile. “You’re going to have to give me a hint. My crystal ball’s broken.”

  He swung open the car door. “Never mind.” He should have known she was too good to be true.

  She grasped his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Grant, wait. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Let’s just say honesty is nonnegotiable.”

  “O-kay.” She stretched out the word, the confusion on her face deepening. “It is for me, too. What, you think I’ve lied to you?”

  “Sometimes lies are told in the things we don’t say.” He slid into the driver’s seat but couldn’t close the door, because she had stepped into the opening.

  “What haven’t I said? Ask me anything. I’ll tell you.” She lifted both hands in a gesture of openness. “I cry over sappy movies. My first term of college, I almost flunked algebra. Holly and I once got in trouble for hiding the teacher’s chalk and eraser. What else do you want to know? Let’s see. I talk to myself. A lot. They say you’re only crazy if you answer yourself. Well, I do that, too.”

  He cranked the car, shaking his head. She was telling him everything except the one thing he wanted to hear. “Bye, Jami. The game’s over.”

  “What game?”

  The one you’re playing with my heart. He kept the words to himself. He wouldn’t admit to her that she’d duped him. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. He eased off the brake and let the car creep forward. “You’re off the hook on the rest of the tour. I’m not selling to Vanguard.”

  He shut the door and turned toward the highway. As he prepared to pull back onto 64, he cast a glance in his rearview mirror. Jami stood watching him, jaw agape. For the second time, he was leaving her standing in a parking lot, plans thwarted. But this time he was justified.

  He turned onto the highway and accelerated. He still had a few more days of work before he could turn everything over to the Realtor. But once he finished the last of his sorting and boxed up the few remaining keepsakes he hadn’t yet shipped back to New York, he would be gone.

  His hand went to his chest and wrapped around the pewter heart resting there. A few minutes ago, it had held so much meaning. Now it represented nothing but betrayal.

  He gave it a hard downward yank. The leather tie snapped, and he threw the once-cherished piece to the passenger floorboard. He didn’t need to be reminded of geocaching or any other activity he’d done with Jami.

  In fact, he wanted nothing more than to get far, far away—away from Hot Spot, where his newfound hope came crashing down around him, and away from Murphy, where an auburn-haired pixie uncovered his heart, then stepped on it.

  Jami swept through the front door of the Scout, purse hanging over one shoulder and notebook clutched against her chest. She’d spent the morning working in the field, partly because she couldn’t stand the thought of staying cooped up inside, and partly because she hadn’t been ready to face Bernie so soon after Grant’s terse words.

  Actually, she still wasn’t ready to face Bernie. But David would probably have something to say if she tried to avoid the office indefinitely. She pushed her way through the swinging doors at the end of the long counter. Bernie was sitting at her desk against the wall, fingers flying over the keyboard, apparently oblivious to the work going on around her.

  Jami made her way across the large, open room, offering nods and soft greetings to the three coworkers she passed. As soon as she pulled her chair away from her desk, Bernie looked over at her.

  “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you today.”

  “I spent the morning taking pictures and doing interviews. Now I’m ready to start writing my library article.” And maybe Bernie would take the hint and let her work. Not likely, since their paths hadn’t crossed since Sunday. But it was worth a shot.

  She laid her notebook on her desk and turned back the cover, then opened a blank document on her computer. Bernie watched in silence, then finally leaned forward.

  “So tell me how things are progressing with that red-hot grandson.” Her voice was a coarse whisper. “The last I knew, you were going whitewater rafting together.”

  Jami sighed. So much for taking hints. “We did. I got thrown from the raft, and he dove into the raging river to save me.”

  Bernie put a hand over her heart and slumped sideways in a feigned swoon. “Oh, you’re giving me palpitations. How romantic.”

  “And last night, he made me dinner.”

  “Handsome, successful, romantic and a good cook, too.”

  Yeah, she’d been as impressed as Bernie. So impressed she’d pretty much handed him her heart on his grandmother’s fine china.

  Bernie plopped her foot on the floor and leaned forward, brown eyes sparkling behind her jewel-studded glasses. Bernie was always vibrant. But that vibrancy was most obvious when she was plotting another match. She soaked up every juicy detail, and on those rare occasions when her matchmaking attempts worked out, she could barely contain herself. She plopped her hand down on her desk. “I knew it. Things are moving along even faster than I’d hoped.”

  “They were till this morning, anyway.”

  “Oh, no.” She sank back in the chair, face crumpling in disappointment. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I ran into him at Hot Spot, and he roped me into a game of twenty questions. Apparently he wasn’t happy with my answers. Of course, it’s kind of difficult to give good answers when you don’t have the questions.”

  “Jami, girl, you are making no sense whatsoever.”

  Yeah, that was exactly how she’d felt about Grant that morning. She couldn’t begin to guess what had gotten into him. Twelve hours earlier, they’d stood in his kitchen, and he’d kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Thoughts of that kiss still sent a quivery weakness down both legs. Then, literally overnight, he’d grown cold and angry.

  “He seems to think I’m keeping something from him. And when I couldn’t tell him what it was, he said the game was over.”

  “What game?”

  “That’s what I asked him. He didn’t answer, just drove away.”

  Bernie sat in silence for several moments, frowning. She was scheming. Jami could see it in her eyes. Finally, she gave a short nod. “I’ll go talk to him, find out what’s ailing him.”

  “If he wouldn’t tell me anything, I don’t think he’s going to tell you. Besides, I don’t want him to know I talked to you.”

  She nodded again. “You’ve got a good point. Guys don’t like it when their women talk about them.”

  “I’m not Grant’s woman.” Her tone held more disappointment than denial. Because that was exactly what she wanted to be.

  She heaved a sigh. She’d done it again. She’d tumbled into another relationship where the only possible destination was a dead end. Not only were their lives eight hundred miles apart, Grant wasn’t about to let down his guard and risk his heart. His refusal to talk to her this morning proved it.

  And it left her with an emptiness inside that refused to go away. In time, those days with Grant would be nothing but a pleasant memory. And the ache inside would fade until it disappeared altogether. In the meantime, she would occupy herself any way she could. No more pity parties. She squared her shoulders and picked up the phone.

  Bernie’s face lit up. “Are you calling him?”

  “No, I’m calling Holly.” She would see what her two best friends were doing tonight. If they were tied up, she would challenge Bernie to a game of Scrabble. And if Bernie was tied up, she would take the dogs for a long walk in the park. Anything to get her mind off Grant.

&nb
sp; Somehow, in less than three weeks, he’d swept her off her feet and made her believe in fairy tales again. She’d been sure she had finally found her prince.

  But she’d been wrong. He wasn’t a prince. He was a frog like all the others.

  And he’d just hopped out of her life.

  Grant started down the steps, a box propped on one hip, the other hand resting on the banister. His thoughts were still a massive jumble.

  It was hard to believe less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been with Jami, sitting around a table laden with food, flickering candles in the center, romantic music playing in the background. They’d talked and held hands and shared long-ago experiences. And she’d kissed him. Okay, so he’d initiated that. But she hadn’t done anything to discourage him.

  And all the while she was engaged. The sweet, innocent air, everything she silently communicated through those expressive eyes, all a facade. He’d been sucker punched, a solid steel-toed boot planted right in his gut.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t fallen in love with her. He’d come close. He definitely cared for her. And that was bad enough. But the whole situation was a kick in the gut in another sense, too. He’d wanted to believe there was someone out there who was exactly who she claimed to be, without deceit or guile. Someone with true integrity, pure and selfless. He just wanted to believe in some kind of innate goodness in another human being. Like the second grader who knows deep down that chubby men in red suits can’t really fit down chimneys or fly in reindeer-led sleighs but isn’t quite ready to let go of the hope it might be true.

  Well, he had no childlike wonder left. Every last bit of it had been stamped out of him by life—a mother who spun elaborate tales of rejection and fed them to him like candy. A woman who promised to forsake all others but embraced infidelity, professing a love that didn’t exist.

  And a lady who filled his thoughts with enchantment but belonged to another.

  He laid the box on top of two others sitting against the foyer wall and straightened with a sigh. He’d given her the opportunity to come clean, to tell him about Robert. But she’d refused. If she would keep something that important from him, what other secrets would she hold? How could he reconcile her deceitfulness with her claims of being a Christian, all her talk of God and church?

  Church. He’d gone as a young child. His grandparents had taken him every Sunday. Sometimes his mother went. Usually she’d stayed home. Then he and his mother had gotten their own place. And other than the two times he’d gone with Bethany before using the excuse he had to work, that was the end of church.

  Until Jami.

  She’d talked him into trying it. Surprisingly, he’d liked it. God had felt closer there. Of course, God was everywhere. He knew that from his childhood. But Jami seemed to have something he’d never experienced, something he wanted. At least he’d thought she did. Now he knew her faith was all talk.

  So where did that leave him? He shook his head. God put Himself at a big disadvantage, leaving it to people to be His examples.

  As he passed the living room on his way back upstairs, a single bong of the grandfather clock announced the half hour. Five thirty. What was Jami doing, and what was she feeling? Disappointment? Frustration her plans had been thwarted? Relief he’d left before her fiancé was due to return? She was probably on the phone with him at that very moment, whispering sweet nothings, awaiting their reunion.

  What kind of game had she been playing? Had she planned to enchant her way past his defenses, then dump him as soon as her boyfriend came back, acquiring yet another name to add to her list of broken hearts? Worse yet, had she been lured by the McAllister fortune and planned to hold on to both him and her boyfriend? Had history been about to repeat itself?

  Whatever her plans, they hadn’t worked. Thanks to Hank, he’d seen through the beautiful facade and gotten out relatively unscathed, with no damage to his bank account and minimal damage to his heart.

  He plodded up the steps toward his grandmother’s room. A few more boxes, and he would be ready to leave North Carolina behind and tour the country. He tried to stir up some enthusiasm for what he was about to do. But the whole trip seemed like an empty shell of his Murphy experiences, a poor-quality counterfeit. He longed for more days with Jami, traipsing through the woods, hearing her laughter, feeling her warmth next to him. And the more he thought about it, the more the longing intensified.

  Okay, maybe the damage to his heart wasn’t so minimal.

  Frenzied barking announced the presence of guests moments before the doorbell sounded. When Jami swung open the front door, the barking stopped immediately. Samantha and Holly stood on her porch, Samantha holding a frozen lasagna and Holly clutching a spiral-bound notebook.

  Holly grinned. “We’re here to cheer you up.”

  “And feed you.” Samantha held up the lasagna.

  She backed up to let them in, and Holly immediately shed her high-heeled sandals. With nothing more important on the agenda than a covert meeting with her two best friends, she still looked as if she’d just finished a photo shoot. Her black dress jeans molded themselves to her hips, and her blouse screamed Saks Fifth Avenue, although it was more likely outlet mall or discount online clothing store. Holly knew how to look like a million bucks without spending it.

  Jami closed the door behind them. She had filled Holly in on the conversation she’d had with Grant that morning, and Holly had likely explained everything to Sam.

  “I’m all right. At least I will be. Eventually.” She forced an uncomfortable laugh. “I’m a mess. I’ve known him less than three weeks, and I’m as bummed as I was when Jerrod dumped me.” Actually, more so. She’d dated Jerrod through her entire first year of college. Then he’d gone home and hooked back up with his ex.

  Grant hadn’t hooked up with anyone. He’d just closed himself off and shut her out of his life. When Jerrod left her, she’d at least understood the demise of their relationship. With Grant, she had no clue.

  She took the lasagna from Sam. “Nothing says comfort food like Italian, so let’s get this show on the road. I refuse to feel sorry for myself tonight.”

  Sam responded with a fist pump. “That’s the attitude.”

  Jami followed her into the kitchen, with Holly in the rear. Where Holly was sophisticated elegance, Sam was relaxed simplicity. She was dressed in her typical blue jeans, T-shirt and tennis shoes, her dark ponytail pulled through the opening in the back of her ever-present baseball cap. When Sam shed the cap, it was for one of two reasons: to exchange it for safety gear when on the river or to sleep. She collected caps the same way a lot of women accumulated shoes.

  Samantha turned on the oven and prepped the lasagna for baking. Finally, she put a sympathetic hand on Jami’s arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Jami shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never been through this before. This is par for the course. It seems the only men I find interesting are the ones who split before anything gets too sticky. The dependable ones bore me to death.”

  “You know what I think?” Holly plopped a cutting board down on the counter. As soon as she’d entered the kitchen, she had rooted through the crisper for salad ingredients and now had a nice collection of fresh veggies waiting to be washed. She leaned back against the counter, wearing a smug expression, as if she’d just figured out the answers to all of life’s questions. “I think your choice of men is a protective mechanism.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad walked out on you at the tender age of eight. That made you feel lost and insecure. And even though you’re all grown up, those feelings have never left. Deep down, you’re afraid of being abandoned. Pierre leaving after you had fallen so hard for him only reinforced those fears. So did Jerrod’s dumping you to go back to his girlfriend. Ever since then, you’ve gone for the men who, for one reason or another, aren’t likely to commit. That way there’s no chance of a serious relationship developing, and you avoid the possibility of gettin
g hurt.”

  Jami planted her hands on her hips. “What’s this? You’ve changed your major? Now you’re going to be a psychologist?”

  “I did take psychology a couple semesters ago. But I don’t have to be a psychologist to figure you out. I know you too well. If it were only once or twice, I’d say it was a temporary lapse in judgment. But there’s a definite pattern here.”

  Samantha studied her. “You know, I think Holly’s right. You always accuse your exes of being commitment phobic, but maybe you’re the one who runs from commitment. Think about it. Women have types of men they’re attracted to—certain build, hair color, personality type. But the one thing the guys you’ve dated all have in common is the unlikelihood that anything serious will ever develop between you.”

  “All except Robert.” Holly picked up a head of romaine lettuce and ran water over it. “He falls into the dependable-but-boring category.”

  Samantha looked at Jami. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should both be arrested for practicing psychiatry without a license.” She took a plump red tomato from the counter and washed it. Samantha and Holly were wrong. She’d gotten over her father’s leaving years ago, the moment when she decided to forgive and let go. That experience was not keeping her from finding lasting love as an adult. She just had bad luck with relationships.

  But what if Holly were right? “Okay, Dr. Phil, let’s say I do have abandonment issues. Now that you’re done analyzing me, how about telling me what I can do about it?”

  Holly made quick work of the tomato, pushing the pieces off the cutting board with the edge of the knife. “Dunno. Psychology 101 didn’t cover that.”

  Samantha pursed her lips. “All I can suggest is to remember life is full of uncertainty. You’ve got to be willing to take some risks.”

  “Spoken by someone who battles rapids for a living.” Jami smiled wryly. “I think I’ll chalk this whole experience up to another one of Bernie’s failed matchmaking attempts.”