“Grandma, it’s me, Olivia. You’re safe now, we’ve found you.” She rubbed circles on Grandma’s back.
Grandma’s mind didn’t seem to want to return from its detour. “Jacob. Hurt.” Grandma grasped Olivia’s hands, both trembling. “My boy.”
Olivia cradled Grandma’s bony frame. She’d called Olivia’s father Jacob once before. “Your boy is grown up now. He’s in Indianapolis. Safe.” Or so she assumed.
“But…Jacob.”
Blake approached slowly, tucking his phone in his pocket. “Mrs. Hudson, it’s me Blake. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about I take you girls out for some pizza?”
Grandma shied away from him.
Blake stepped back.
What could she do to ease Grandma’s fears? Olivia leaned close. “Don’t worry. Be happy.”
After a few more minutes of gentle coaxing, Grandma agreed to return to the car. Their shoes crunched the sticks and debris as they made their way out of the woods.
When they reached Olivia’s vehicle, Blake held open Grandma’s door. “Are we still on for pizza?”
They couldn’t go out like this. Olivia was a mess, inside and out. Grandma was calmer, but looked as if she could collapse at any moment. “We need to go home. I’m sorry.”
Blake opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it. His brows pulled in disappointment. “I understand. Will you be all right?”
“I think so.” Even she didn’t believe her words over the tremble in her voice.
He came around to her side and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened, but then melted into it. It felt good to know she wasn’t alone. “If you need anything, call me.”
Oh, how easy it would be to let him lead for a while. To rest in the comfort of his arms. She was tired. Olivia nodded, not trusting her words. She pulled away first.
He didn’t let go. Keeping one hand on her back, he touched the bump on her forehead with the other. “Get some rest. Don’t worry about bringing me food tomorrow. I’ll manage.”
She nodded, pain radiating in her skull now that she’d remembered her injury. “Good night.”
“‘Night.” Blake let her go, one slow inch at a time.
Overwhelmed in a thousand different ways, Olivia sank onto the driver’s seat.
Blake shut her door. All the way home Grandma murmured about a boy named Jacob.
And Olivia tried to forget the masculine heat of Blake’s touch.
20
Blake carried two glasses of tea and weaved through the idle vehicles parked next to his barn. Ice cubes clinked against the sides, already melting in the afternoon heat. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of the barn where his dad sat at a picnic table full of pens and IRS forms for hiring seasonal help.
He loved this part. Meeting new people, welcoming past employees, getting to know the migrant workers and their families. Their cultures. Everyone coming together to get the job done.
Blake set his dad’s drink on the table in front of him.
“Thanks, son. Abejundio says he’s worked for you the last two years.” Dad pointed to the dark-skinned, stocky man in the corner who was using a support beam as a writing surface.
“Abe.” Blake wiped his wet fingers on his pant leg and approached the man, arm outstretched.
Transferring pen and paper to his left hand, Abe extended his right. “Nice see you, Blake.”
The man’s English had improved since last summer. “Thanks for coming back. Is your family with you?”
“Catalina with child. It’s me and Fausto this year.”
“Congratulations. I look forward to working with you both again.” Blake clamped the man’s shoulder.
Huck and his wife walked in.
Arianne smiled. “Got room for a couple more?”
“Absolutely.” Blake took a swig of tea to quench his parched throat and to wash down envy for the life Huck had. “Are you signing up for harvest, or are you helping this guy collect the honey?”
She slipped her arm through Huck’s, gripping the bend of his elbow. “As much as I love him, he can have his bees. I’m here for the blueberries. And the vitamin D. Plus, Olivia mentioned she planned to help, so I thought I’d join her.”
The mention of Olivia’s name brought back the image of her in his arms, the feel of her against him. How close he’d been to kissing her senseless. Tea. He needed more tea. Blake downed half the glass. “Welcome aboard. There’s paperwork over there, if you’ve got a minute.”
Blake had texted Olivia this morning to see how they were doing after yesterday’s scare. She hadn’t replied. He’d gotten so close, and now she was running like a frightened animal. If she’d simply trust him, he’d show her how good they’d be together. Like chicken wings and a baseball game.
Except he wouldn’t get his Saturday dose of her today. That bothered him more than watching the game alone. Again. “Would you mind helping me move another table out here?”
Huck followed him to the tack room, where the scent of oil and leather hung in the air from Blake’s grandfather’s old saddle. Blake moved a can of nails and the blueprints of his last hobby off the dusty table. Removing a clean hanky from his back pocket, Blake wiped away the dust.
Huck braced his hands under one side while Blake took the other. “How are things in the world of baking?”
“Stale.”
“I hear ya.”
They guided the table through the doorway. “Arianne seems to think the baker has a thing for you. Then again, she’s a hopeless romantic who won’t stop matchmaking until love has rued the day. Be careful, my friend.”
“I sell weddings for a living.” At the sound of Arianne’s voice, Huck’s end fell, stopping Blake short. “I can’t help it,” she said.
Huck leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Have I told you how pretty you look today?”
One hand found her hip. “No, you haven’t.”
“You look beautiful today.”
“Nice try.”
This. This was what Blake wanted. A wife to love, to tease. To keep warm at night. A wife who’d stick by him no matter how stupid or pig-headed he was.
Arianne shrugged. “She thinks highly of you, Blake. Give her time. She’s been through a lot.” She looked at her husband. “Sometimes love takes time.”
Love is patient. Was this love? They hadn’t even had a date yet. But what he felt for Olivia was a whole lot closer to the target than not.
Arianne turned to walk out of the barn, but stopped and called over her shoulder. “And when you both set a date, you know where my shop is.”
Huck’s head craned heavenward, eyes rolling.
Seemed Blake had a lot of work to do.
~*~
The animal shelter’s doors opened to a cacophony of dogs—large and small—barking for attention. A Chihuahua growled from its little cage, warning Olivia it would eat her ankles if given the opportunity. A collie with sad, brown eyes begged for affection. The woof of what appeared to be a beagle and pug mix tore at Olivia’s heart. It stood on back legs, its front paws gripping the chain-link gate, tail wagging like a metronome on high speed. She could no more pick a favorite canine than she could a new purse. If only she could take them all home. “If you find one you want to pet, let me know and we can take it for a walk.”
Grandma didn’t respond, only bent to look at each one before moving to the next cage.
They walked up and down all the aisles twice before Grandma’s interest settled on a tiny gray kitten with patches of white on her upper lip and paws. “Home.”
“Remember, we talked about a dog and how much fun it would be to take it with us when we go places.” A trained dog that could help keep Grandma out of trouble.
Grandma tried to open the cage. “Home.”
“He’s awfully little. Let’s look at all the animals before we decide.”
“Home.” Grandma stamped her foot.
Mood swings were getting as hard to deal with as wandering off and not sle
eping.
The uniformed woman who had let them in came around the corner. “Find one you want to see closer?”
“Home.” Grandma stuck her fingers through the bars as far as the cage would allow. The tiny ball of fuzz rubbed its head on her finger then raised its back end as it rubbed the rest of itself.
“We’d come in search of a dog.” Olivia whispered to the woman. “One we could train to stay by her side, alert someone if she tries to wander off.”
The woman placed her hand on Olivia’s arm and squeezed. “I understand. My mother had dementia before she died. However, a cat makes just as good a companion as a dog. Especially one like Smokey. I’m Jackie, by the way.” The woman unlatched the cage, reached inside, and tucked the feline against her ample breasts. “It’s about feeding time. I’ve got a small bottle in the back. Let’s see how your grandma does.”
They followed the woman to a small cubicle with rubber benches. Once Grandma was seated, Jackie placed the kitten in Grandma’s lap. “I’ll go get the bottle.”
Grandma lifted the kitten to her chin and cooed. It purred and meowed, as if torn between wanting snuggled and wanting to eat.
Jackie returned with an odd-looking bottle and handed it to Grandma. Like a pro, she turned the kitten upside down in her arm like an infant and stuck the bottle between its tiny, sharp teeth. Sucking noises filled the space.
“Huh.” Olivia leaned forward and rested her chin against her fist.
Jackie smiled and joined Olivia on the bench.
“She seems pretty happy.” Olivia pointed at Grandma, who was gazing proudly at the kitten as if she’d given birth to it herself.
Olivia leaned her elbows on her knees. “Thing is, I run a business. Between that and Grandma’s care, I don’t think we can keep up with regular feedings.”
“Smokey needs to be fed every three to four hours. It’ll still be a few weeks before she’s ready for wet food. Plus, she’ll need to be cleaned several times a day to stimulate healthy bladder and bowel function.”
The suckling stopped. Milk dripped down the side of the kitten’s mouth. It meowed, hooked it claws into Grandma’s hand, and proceeded to climb up her arm. “Ouch!”
Jackie stood and removed the kitten.
Grandma scowled at the feline.
Olivia stood as well. “Do you know if cats help with sleeping habits?”
“I can’t answer that. However, if you’re willing to consider a dog, I have the perfect companion.”
After spending some time with a Tricolour Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a purebred female rescued from a puppy mill two years prior, they all agreed they’d found the one. Sydney would stimulate nurturing with less maintenance.
Olivia ran her fingers over the dog’s silky ears. “Sold.”
Jackie tugged her pants up her thick waist. “I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
Two hours later, after purchasing Sydney and stopping by the store for the necessary supplies, they settled on the couch under a large quilt with chamomile tea and their new friend. Jackie had assured them the breed was patient, sociable, and adapted well to any environment—perfect for children or the elderly.
Olivia was flipping through the TV channels in search of something to watch when a baseball game made her pause. Her mind traveled to yesterday, to Blake’s firm hand cushioning her head, the weight of his torso on hers, one hand curled on her hip. Handsome and strong and good. The way he always put her first. She missed seeing him today. More than she’d even realized, until now.
21
The only thing more perfect than the temperature for Stone Harbor’s First Annual July Fourth Festival was the way Olivia looked in her frilly apron, standing under the shade of a canopy and serving cupcakes. She hadn’t yet spotted Blake, which provided him the opportunity to look his fill.
She grinned at a toddler wearing a bright yellow dress. Reddish curls twisted at the end of her pigtails. Lips pressed together, her little cheeks puffed out to propel the petals of her red, white, and blue pinwheel. The girl said something to her mother, then wrapped her arms around the woman’s leg and squeezed. Laughter, then the exchange of money, followed by Olivia handing over two cupcakes.
A block over, the roar of a marching band tuning instruments warned the crowd the parade would start soon. Now to coax Olivia from her booth long enough to watch it with him.
Olivia waved to the little girl. “Happy Fourth of July!”
The tot skipped backwards. “Happy Forwf.”
Olivia pinned that smile on Blake as he approached. “Here comes Uncle Sam himself.”
“Huh, uh. I passed that duty to Bob Thatcher last week.”
“Why?”
“He’s tall, skinny, and already has a white goatee.”
She frowned, though the mirth never left her eyes. “I was looking forward to seeing you in patriotic flannel.”
He tapped the table with his knuckle. “That’s it, Olivia Hudson. I vow right now that I’ll have you wearing flannel this next winter or I’ll…”
“Eat it?”
He made a face.
“Until then, have a cupcake.” She plucked one out of a pink box, set it on a napkin, and passed it to him. “A hummingbird cupcake made with Huck’s honey, which we’re now selling at the bakery.”
He went for his wallet.
“It’s on the house. I happen to know the owner.”
“Your cheeks are glowing.”
“I’m…happy.” Her head tipped to the side, as if surprised by her confession. She slipped her hands in her apron pockets. “My father and I reached an understanding. I’ve officially taken over financial responsibility for the business, so when he receives his inheritance, the bakery will fall to me.”
Her father. Blake ran this new information through his mind slowly. He started to ask, but decided to focus on the most important clue. “Sounds like you’re putting down roots.”
“I am.”
Blake’s heart kicked up speed. Best news he’d heard in three years.
The church bells sounded the top of the hour.
“Will you watch the parade with me?”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” Brittany, one of Olivia’s employees, and a woman Blake had dated a few times, walked up to the table and shooed Olivia away. “I’ve got this covered, boss. Take a break.” Brittany winked at Olivia—the way women do when sharing a secret—and showcased her dimples.
“Thanks. Let me get Grandma.”
Blake followed Olivia into the bakery, doing his best not to stare at the hollow of her back where she was clumsily untying her apron strings. Instead, he focused on the miniature American flags decorating the edges of the sidewalk leading to the entrance. He counted twelve.
Black-and-white pictures of old war ships, poster style, covered most of the walls. A huge banner hid the bookshelves in the still-in-progress nook where patrons could write a thank-you message to veterans for delivery to the nearest VA hospital. Even the desserts on display commemorated the holiday.
Olivia weaved through the line of customers to the kitchen.
Blake peeled off a section of wrapper and bit into the cupcake while he waited. An explosion of southern flavors burst in his mouth, followed by the sweetness of honey. The woman sure had talent for mixing stuff in a bowl and making it delicious.
A few minutes later, the ladies joined him. He stuffed the last bite into his mouth, tossed the wrapper in the trashcan, and held the door while they exited.
The sun hit Olivia’s face at just the right angle to start a golden fire in those blue eyes. “What’d’ya think?”
Blake licked the stickiness off his lips then pressed them together. “Definitely a keeper.”
Drums pounded down the alley while trumpets and tubas signaled the band’s approach. They’d need to find an open spot soon or they’d miss the whole thing. Mrs. Hudson hunkered over and covered her ears. He hadn’t figured on the noise bothering her. He glanced around for a so
lution.
“Here.” Blake led them to a concrete bench away from the people lining the street. He hopped up and then helped them stand on it as well. From this vantage point, they could still see the parade without having to endure the sharp sounds of the instruments.
Firemen threw candy from shiny red trucks, followed by the local high school cheerleaders waving pom-poms to the beat of the school’s fight song. Uncle Sam was next. Bob fit the role perfectly in a tailored, striped suit and stilts for effect. Pointing at the spectators, he mimicked Uncle Sam’s “I want you” campaign from World War II.
A Chihuahua broke free from its owner and nipped at the icon’s heels. Bob stumbled. “Oh, no!” Olivia grabbed Blake’s arm, her mouth open, watching for disaster.
Bob leaned and took several steps to the left, then to the right, and turned in a perfect circle, twice, before someone ran into the street and snatched up the dog. Bob regained his footing, wiped his brow, and then waved his flag in victory. Cheers momentarily muted the band.
With a hand to her chest, Olivia looked up at Blake and laughed. “That was close.”
Blake would’ve eaten pavement. “Now I feel bad pawning the job off on him.”
Jerry Rizzo, the bank manager, led the line of classic vehicles in his red convertible.
Olivia pointed to the street. “Look!” she yelled, waving hysterically. “It’s Arianne.”
Arianne leaned out the window of Huck’s 1959 truck, her hand splayed above the Summerville Honey Farm logo. Sunlight glared off the teal paint, accentuating the spots that had been painted to look like rust. She spotted Olivia, and her face lit up as she waved back.
Emma, their eight-year-old daughter, sat in the bed dressed in a yellow-and-black striped costume with shimmery wings attached. The girl waved like Miss America. She looked healthy compared to the last time he’d seen her. The little sweetheart deserved a normal life.
The last of the parade went by, and the crowd dispersed. Kids gathered the few pieces of leftover candy abandoned in the street.
Blake jumped off the bench and helped Mrs. Hudson down first. Then he held up his hand for Olivia.
She grasped it but stayed in place. “Want to grab some lunch?”
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