One Perfect Year

by Melinda Curtis

  “You asked me why I left, and I told you, Shel.” This was it. The moment where he’d know if he’d lost her forever, or if they’d go on as they always had—on the pretense of friendship. She could never love the man who’d let her husband die. “You have every right to hate me. For a long time, I hated me.”

  She stopped walking.

  He willed her to face him so that he could see the damage he’d wrought.

  “I don’t... I could never hate you.” She half turned, but he couldn’t read her expression. “I just... Since... I don’t let anyone see me cry.”

  He took the steps two at a time and was soon sweeping her into his arms. “I’m sorry.” It had been the last thing he’d said as he stood over Nick’s grave, long after the other mourners had departed. “I’m so sorry.”

  She clung to him, her face buried against his chest. Her body shook with sobs she somehow managed to keep silent.

  He held her tight. He’d abide by whatever she decided, or whatever her gut reaction was to his confession. Because he loved her. Because he’d always loved her. He’d love her until his dying day.

  Her shudders subsided.

  He had to know. He had to ask. “Shel, can you ever forgive—”

  With a wounded cry, she pushed out of his arms and fled, this time not stopping and not looking back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “MAE?” SHELBY KNOCKED on the bridal shop owner’s front door shortly after eight that same morning.

  Gage’s revelation had knocked her sideways. Pain, sharp and persistent, filled her chest. It had taken a long time to come to terms with the randomness of Nick’s accident. If anything, she’d blamed Nick for his death. He’d been reckless tackling the river on his own.

  To learn that Gage was supposed to have been there brought all the anger back, this time directed at Gage.

  He was right to leave.

  Two years ago, she’d wanted a reason for Nick’s death. Someone to blame. Now she had one. Sort of.

  She couldn’t blame Gage completely. He stood Nick up, yes, but Nick could have turned around. Why hadn’t Nick turned around? Why hadn’t he wondered where Gage was?

  Because he’d loved testing himself.

  Nick had probably thought he’d get to the bottom of the rapids and find Gage waiting to pick him up. And if Gage hadn’t been there? Nick would’ve bummed a ride off another kayaker and tracked Gage down. But he’d have done it after his run. Not before.

  No. Gage wasn’t at fault for Nick’s death. But his confession dredged up the pain of Nick’s passing, this time with more resentment.

  A therapist would say that she was harboring toxic feelings. But Shelby had learned she needed to embrace the hurt before she could let it go. She blew out a frustrated breath. She had no idea what she’d say to Gage the next time she saw him.

  If she spoke to him at all.

  Mae still hadn’t answered.

  Shelby knocked again, her hand as pale against the scarlet door as her spirits.

  Red was an odd choice for the color of a front door considering the rest of the house was painted deep purple. That might have worked on one of the town’s many painted ladies, but on a 1950s ranch house? Not so much.

  “Whoever’s knocking doesn’t understand the need for beauty sleep.” Mae opened the door a crack, and then the crack widened and Shelby stumbled back due to purple overload.

  Mae’s living room walls were a cheerful purple, as were her carpet, couch and a recliner. She wore a short purple cotton robe, displaying a set of mottled, knobby knees leading down to purple fluffy mules. Her neon-red hair was in purple and pink rollers that looked torturous to sleep in. Her face was devoid of makeup, revealing skin with a blue, mottled cast. Or maybe it looked that way against all the purple.

  “It’s the lonely young widow,” Mae rasped as if she’d just finished a cigarette. “Dressed in black again, I see.”

  “Black hides stains,” Shelby retorted. Every science major knew that.

  Mae arched a brow. Or she would have if they’d been penciled on. “Black reflects your mood. Who wants to date a woman who wears black every day?”

  “I don’t wear black every day,” Shelby said defensively, belatedly reminding herself she was here to make Mae happy.

  “You’ve worn black every time I’ve seen you.” Mae wagged a finger at her. “You make widows a cliché. Be quick about your business. I don’t accept visitors until after nine.”

  Shelby took a deep breath, preparing to start over. “Did the sheriff call?” Shelby had a sinking suspicion he hadn’t or else they wouldn’t be having a discussion about black. They’d be talking about the hole in the wall at Dream Day Bridal.

  Mae shook her head and the curlers followed. “He knows I don’t answer the phone or accept visitors until I’m fully awake. After nine.”

  Shelby explained about the break-ins and the stolen copper, trying to put a positive spin on things. “As a winery representative, I’m sorry this happened, but it doesn’t change our interest in the place or our offer.” Christine had reassured Shelby of that earlier on the phone.

  “They didn’t take anything else?” Mae sagged against the doorjamb. “My dresses?”

  “I don’t think so,” Shelby said.

  “I want to see. Come and get me at nine.”

  “But—”

  “Come back and get me,” Mae commanded, slamming the red door shut.

  * * *

  GAGE SPENT THE morning cleaning the clinic. It was better than thinking about the look on Shelby’s face when he’d told her he was the reason she was a widow.

  He started at the top of the clinic, brushing cobwebs from the ceiling and walls with a broom, wishing he would’ve kept his mouth shut when she’d pressed him for answers. He sanitized counters and storage drawers, wiping them down until they looked like new. If only he could clean things with Shelby. He swept and mopped the linoleum floor until he could see his shadowed expression in it.

  Dr. Wentworth manned the phones, placing orders for supplies in between talking to people about the copper thefts and their intent to reopen the clinic. The thefts were big news.

  Gage was wiping down the plastic chairs in the lobby, wondering if any of Shelby’s scrapes were bothering her, when one of the old man’s conversations caught his attention.

  “Now, Felix, you can’t go making accusations like that.” Doc paused to listen to Felix’s reply. “If it makes you feel better, tell the sheriff.” He slammed the receiver into the cradle. “You won’t believe what people are saying about this copper thief.”

  “Try me.” Gage took a seat.

  “Some of the Nervous Nellies think it’s a drug gang moving into town.”

  “Very few people have moved into town lately. What did you tell me? Four? Six? All of them former residents, except the sheriff.”

  “Exactly why that theory doesn’t fly.”

  “And you have one of your own.” Of course. Gage rocked back in his chair, waiting.

  Doc cleared his throat. “People get funny when they feel threatened. My theory is more sensible.”

  “Which is?”

  “That someone who came to help with the harvest did it.” Doc’s eyebrows waggled. “Think about it. Only the businesses that aren’t open were hit. The thief cared.”

  “But if the thief cared, he wouldn’t have broken into all those places to begin with.”

  The phone rang again.

  “Mark my words,” Doc said gravely. “It’s someone who was here this weekend.”

  * * *

  “WHAT?” CHRISTINE’S VOICE carried from the upstairs office down to the kitchen where Ryan was making a cup of tea and Shelby was doctoring her coffee. “Of course I’ll cooperate.”

  Ryan an
d Shelby hurried upstairs with their mugs.

  “That was Nate.” Christine finger combed strands of blond hair back from her face. “We need to give him a list of our volunteers from the harvest. He suspects one of them is the copper thief. So far they’ve found six businesses that were vandalized.”

  “Do we have a list?” Ryan frowned.

  Shelby hurried to her desk. “I have the call list.”

  They reviewed the list together. No name shouted guilty.

  “We saw a small gray sedan drive away this morning,” Shelby said. “Do you remember anyone driving something like that?”

  “A gray four-door sedan?” Ryan stroked his long, sparse whiskers. “Isn’t that the most popular car model and color in America? We might as well mark down who didn’t drive one.”

  Shelby checked the time. “I’m late getting to Mae’s house. I’ll drop the list off with the sheriff.”

  “We’ll enter the wine readings into the database for you.” Christine looked worried. “I hope it wasn’t someone who came to help. That casts a shadow on the winery.”

  “Not unless it was one of us,” Ryan said. “And none of us drives a car like that.”

  “Any bad press is bad press.” Christine sighed. “Since when are you the upbeat one?”

  “I like to keep you guessing about me, boss.”

  Shelby made a photocopy of the list of names and numbers, and left, stopping by the sheriff’s office. Which turned out to be a good thing, since Mae was sitting there when she arrived.

  “You’re late.” Mae sounded like she’d smoked a pack of menthols since Shelby’d seen her last. “I called the sheriff to pick me up. He showed me the horror. I needed a moment to collect myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Mae. I got busy.” Shelby approached the tall counter separating the lobby from the sheriff’s desk. “Here’s the list of attendees from our harvest, Nate.”

  “So it’s true.” Mae’s tone turned serious. “If it wasn’t for your winery bringing people back, my store wouldn’t have been violated. I knew that winery was a bad idea.”

  So much for Christine’s plan to butter up the residents to approve the expansion of the winery.

  “Let me do the detective work.” Nate picked up Shelby’s list and began scanning the names from the other side of the counter. “Look on the bright side, Mae.” Shelby infused her voice with cheer. “You don’t have to make an insurance claim. The winery wants to buy your property as is.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t sell.” Mae pounded her cane on the floor. “Maybe selling will bring more crime here.”

  “Maybe you should take a breath and think about the future.” Nate looked up from Shelby’s list. “What good is that place doing you?”

  Mae sniffed. “It’s where my memories are stored.”

  “Last I checked, memories are stored up here.” Nate tapped his temple.

  “Fat lot of good my memories will do anyone after I’m gone if I keep them to myself.” Mae’s grip on the cane tightened. “Do you see the thief on that list? I’d like to kick him in the shins before you arrest him. I’ve got big feet for my size.”

  “Justice takes time, Mae,” he deadpanned. “Not boot size.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time, sheriff.”

  “Now, Mae,” Nate soothed, finally giving her his full attention. “Shelby’s going to take you home, where you can relive all your glory days in the comfort of your recliner.”

  “Oliver, you were always a pain in my patoot.”

  “Who’s Oliver?” The sheriff’s gaze intensified. “I’m Nate. And this is Shelby. Do you recognize us?”

  “Of course I recognize you. The nosey sheriff and the lonely widow. You’d make a cute couple, but I think that veterinarian with the cowlick has a soft spot for Shelby.”

  “I’m sorry,” Shelby said softly to Nate. “She seems fixated on matchmaking.”

  Mae blinked and gazed around the jail. “What were we talking about?”

  Nate didn’t miss a beat. “You calling your doctor.”

  “What for?” Mae harrumphed. “My doctor was born in the eighties. I have spandex leggings older than he is.”

  “Call him.” The sheriff caught Shelby’s gaze, then nodded toward the door.

  Shelby took the hint. “Time to go, Mae.” Before the stress of the break-in had her drifting deeper into confusion.

  “Don’t take me home,” Mae ordered, unflinching. “People are gathering at El Rosal. After I visit, then you can take me home.”

  Like Shelby had a choice.

  El Rosal was crowded with perhaps forty residents, although no one seemed to be below age fifty.

  The residents’ faded clothing, white hair and pale complexions were nearly lost in the bright room. Mae and her red hair being the exception. She’d always stand out in a crowd.

  While Shelby got Mae settled in a chair, Gage and her grandfather pulled up out front. She’d been hoping she wouldn’t have to face Gage until tonight at dinner. She still had no idea what she’d say to him.

  “You see,” remarked Rose, pointing with the graceful precision of a ballerina at Gage’s truck. “Wrong vehicle. He couldn’t be the devil who stole all that pipe. He’s driving a truck.”

  “You think it was Gage?” Shelby blurted.

  “Some of these old fools are personally vetting everyone physically able to work a blowtorch or wrench.” Agnes shook her head. “Don’t worry. You were the first one crossed off our list.”

  Shelby bit her lip to keep from boasting that she’d picked up a few mechanical skills since she’d left town. She could change a tire and release the pressure seal on a vat of wine.

  “And Gage isn’t driving just any truck. Remember how that boy got that dent?” Rose turned to Shelby with a smile, while others chuckled. That dent had a reputation far and wide in Harmony Valley. “Do you remember, Shelby?”

  Of course Shelby remembered. She ignored the comment and fussed over Mae.

  Mae seemed the only one who had no recall of the event. “Did you hit Gage’s truck with a baseball bat, girl?”

  “No.” Why hadn’t Gage fixed his fender or traded in the truck?

  “Did you give it a karate kick?” Mae released a raspy chuckle that morphed into a cough.

  “No.” Shelby’s cheeks heated as she rubbed Mae’s back.

  Gage and her grandfather entered the dining room. Everyone quieted. Grandpa crossed the room with his rolling gait to sit next to Mae. Gage claimed a chair close to Shelby.

  What to say? What to say?

  “Mae, let me refresh your memory about that truck.” Rose stood and made a dramatic flourish with her hand. “Gage was teaching Shelby how to drive a stick shift and she missed the turn in front of Bea’s house. That dent is where they slid into Bea’s goat pasture and hit a post.”

  Shelby had pumped the clutch instead of the brake. If Gage hadn’t grabbed the wheel, they would have hit some goats. As it was, they narrowly missed plowing through the next fence and into the muddy pigpen.

  “I could have taught you how to drive a stick shift.” Mildred stared in Shelby’s general direction. “I still could.”

  Several people groaned.

  “I could,” the former race car driver said louder.

  “I remember now.” Mae’s gaze turned speculatively to Gage. “Gage had to have stitches on his right temple.”

  Shelby slouched in her chair, suddenly not so fond of small towns where there were no secrets.

  Gage touched his scarred temple, then leaned toward Shelby, his scent of woodsy aftershave setting off her man-awareness meter. “Why are they talking about our accident?”

  Without looking at him, she whispered, “Because they have very long memories and you can apparently wield a wrench.” There
. Their first conversation since his admission. Impersonal, but okay.

  “Wait a minute.” Olly squinted in her grandfather’s direction. “Doesn’t Doc own a silver sedan?”

  “It was my wife’s,” Grandpa admitted. “She loved that car.”

  “They could have driven Ruby’s sedan,” Olly pointed out. “Silver. Gray. In the fog who can tell the difference?”

  “Anyone who isn’t legally blind,” Grandpa muttered, adding an apology when Mildred protested being lumped with the accuser.

  Despite his protests, the amateur sleuths took to Olly’s hypothesis hungrily.

  “I’m embarrassed to call myself a Harmony Valley resident,” Mae said. “Have you people listened to yourselves?”

  “That car has undisturbed cobwebs in the wheel wells.” Shelby couldn’t keep sarcasm from her voice. “Not to mention the Lincoln is longer than the car we saw.”

  “We only have their word about the car.” Felix’s burgundy polo shirt was sprinkled with what looked like cat hair. The retired fireman rescued cats and kittens from all over the county. “For all we know, they could have been driving a truck.”

  Grandpa was done with muttering. This time he bellowed. “Or Santa’s sleigh.”

  The crowd quieted.

  “We’re the ones who reported the break-in at Dream Day Bridal,” Gage patiently pointed out, further dampening the group’s enthusiasm toward them as suspects. “We were there with the sheriff when the culprit drove away.”

  “See?” Rose gloated. “Airtight alibi. Cross Gage off the list.”

  Gage leaned in once more. “I was getting worried.”

  His warm breath on the shell of her ear created a yearning at odds with her disappointment in him.

  Mae yanked on Gage’s arm. “If you’re serious about this girl, you’ll need to get her a ring. Not too big, not too small.”

  Shelby put her hand on her forehead, wishing she was elsewhere.

  “Don’t start matchmaking, Mae.” Grandpa removed his glasses and cleaned them with a tissue.

  “Hypocrite.” Mae sniffed. “Have you forgotten I set you and Ruby up on a blind date? I am a soldier of love.”