by Lisa Carter
Stella held out her arm. Once Amber fitted the corsage onto Stella, her daughter brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled.
A pleased expression flitted across Stella’s lips. “Thank you, Ethan.”
Proud she hadn’t had to prompt the girls to remember their manners, Amber gave both girls a quick hug. Lucy was exuberant with her love, while Stella was more restrained with hers. But Amber detected a softening in Stella’s posture that hadn’t been there.
So much had changed for the better since he came into their lives. Including Amber. With each passing day, the darkness of the past faded a bit more. She felt like the sun had finally come out from the clouds and shone for the first time in a long while.
“And last but not least.” He whipped out a small wildflower bouquet bound with a burlap ribbon. “For another beautiful girl.” There was a shyness in his gaze as her eyes caught his. “Who became a beautiful woman and wonderful mother.”
She clasped the flowers. “Ethan. You shouldn’t have.” The clean fragrance of meadowsweet wafted. “But thank you.” Those traitorous weak tears blurred her vision. “No one has ever...”
He cocked his head. “What’s wrong with the men in Truelove?”
None of them were you.
She sucked in a breath. Where had that come from? She hid her face in the sunflower-studded arrangement, giving herself time to recover her equilibrium.
“They are your favorites, right?” He propped his foot on the step between them. “Yellows. Purples and pinks. Like the meadow near the rafting office.”
She looked at him. “You remember the flowers in the meadow that summer?”
“I remember a lot of things.” He straightened, his face becoming serious. “Things I should’ve recalled sooner.”
“Better late than never,” she whispered.
His eyes bored into hers. “Do you mean that, Amber?” He leaned forward. Her lips parted.
In that instant, it felt to her as if the rest of the world fell away. There was no dilapidated trailer. No broken relationships. No wasted, lost years.
Only her and Ethan. The fulfillment of her schoolgirl longings. These last couple weeks, more than physical distance between them had lessened; the emotional distance had, too.
“Mommy! Efan!”
Amber jolted. Heat creeping up her neck, she pulled back.
With a sheepish look, he ran his hand over his head. “Looks like these two princesses are ready for their magical night.”
Calling their goodbyes, the girls clattered after him toward the truck. And she went inside, her pulse pounding; her heart jerking.
So was she. She leaned her forehead against the closed door. Dearest God, so am I.
* * *
It was the perfect night for the outdoor gala. Organizers had strung twinkling lights around the perimeter of the town square. Against the backdrop of the rose-streaked sunset, a local bluegrass band performed on the raised platform of the gazebo.
Lucy was giddy with excitement. As they made their way across the lawn, Stella stuck close to his other side. Tall, thick candles in glass hurricane globes flickered on the white tables set for eight.
It was with no small relief Ethan spotted familiar faces—Jake McAbee, with his daughter, Maisie, in his arms, and Nash Jackson.
Lucy and Stella ran forward. “Maisie! Maisie!” Jake set three-year-old Maisie on her feet, and the girls admired each other’s fancy dresses.
Jake shook Ethan’s hand. “I’m so glad you convinced Amber to let the twins attend.”
Nash nodded. “Jake and I offered, but she said she didn’t want to intrude on our father-daughter moments.” He grinned as Callie approached. “And though Lorena is at the hospital tonight, I’m looking forward to dinner with the best daughter in the world.”
Jake placed his hand on Maisie’s head. “Me, too.” He winked at Callie. “I’ve got more than one best gal here tonight.”
Callie’s mouth curved. Something tender passed between them. And for the first time, Ethan felt its absence in his own life.
“As the official photographer for the gala, Amber made me promise to take lots of pictures.” Callie gestured toward Dwight Fleming, standing alone near the bandstand. “I wish she and her father could’ve come together tonight.”
So did Ethan. No diploma or nursing license would erase the heavy load she carried. He feared Amber would never find the peace she so desperately craved. Not until she reconciled with her father.
Nash clamped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “How about your crew and my crew sit together at dinner?”
“Sounds good.”
Jake took Maisie’s hand. “We already claimed a table over there.”
“But before your two honey bunnies get rumpled...” Callie beckoned toward the makeshift photography station. “Let’s get those photos. You’re my last clients before dinner.”
Callie had a way of bringing out the best in her photography subjects. She did one of the three of them together. Then individual pictures of Ethan with each of the girls. She also took a sisters-only shot.
“Okay,” Callie directed, the viewfinder pressed to her face. “Last picture. Act as silly as you can.” She tilted her head. “Not going to be hard for the Ethan Green I remember.”
He laughed. “You wound me, old friend.”
“Who are you calling old?”
Lucy needed no encouragement to clown around. And when he obliged Callie by making fish faces, Ethan managed to coax a slight smile from Stella.
Callie gave them a thumbs-up. “Perfect!”
Lucy tugged on his sleeve. “Can we eat now, Efan?”
Callie replaced the cap on the lens of her camera. “Looks like Jake and Dad have the same idea.”
Ethan steered the twins toward the buffet line. With Jake supervising Maisie, Callie was free to help him get through the line with his girls.
Temporarily his to enjoy, but lately thoughts of sandy beaches and ocean waves held less and less allure.
Juggling their plates, they started the trek across the green toward their table. Lucy and Stella adamantly refused to let him carry theirs, and then Lucy stumbled.
He made a quick grab for Lucy’s plate. “Let me, Luce.”
“Okay, Efan.” She skipped ahead.
Stella plowed onward, resolute in her determination to do it by herself.
He helped the girls into their seats. In the beginning, he’d been optimistic he’d eventually charm his way past Stella’s barriers. Amber’s, too. But mother and daughter continued to hold him at arm’s length.
Discouragement assailed him. And suddenly, he doubted if he’d ever gain their trust. He’d felt something on the porch earlier between him and Amber. But it had been brief.
At the table, the Jackson-McAbee four, plus Ethan’s three, left only one seat unspoken for.
Dwight pulled out the remaining chair next to Lucy. “Is this seat taken?”
The adults fell silent. The children chattered among themselves, unaware of the sudden tension.
“I don’t know if you should.” Ethan exchanged a look with Callie. “Amber probably wouldn’t like it.”
The older man’s face fell. “I just wanted to be close to them, but I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
Lucy’s head popped up from the meatball she was jabbing with a blue toothpick. “Mi-kay-waa’s mom said Stehwaa and me awe double twouble.”
“Not double trouble.” Dwight’s blue eyes—so similar to his granddaughters’—sparked. “Double blessing.”
Emotion clogged Ethan’s throat. This wasn’t right. Keeping Dwight from knowing his granddaughters. Denying Lucy and Stella the opportunity to know their grandfather.
“Take the seat, Dwight,” his voice rasped. “We’d be glad to have you join us.”
“If you�
�re sure.” Dwight looked around the table at the sea of faces. Callie gave a slow nod. Nash, too.
Later, clutching her camera, Callie excused herself when the mayor mounted the dais to speak. He and other Truelove personages gave short updates on the progress of the fund-raising effort to outfit the high school band with new uniforms. Seated toward the rear of the crowd, the three little girls whispered among themselves.
“Your grandmother called me this afternoon.” Driven by a stark hunger to know them, Dwight’s gaze remained focused on his granddaughters. “She mentioned you were escorting the girls to the dance tonight.”
Grandma Hicks. Ethan should’ve guessed. The matchmakers were notorious for rushing in where sensible folk feared to tread.
“So you came to the Sweetheart Dance just to see them, Dwight?”
Dwight’s gaze darted to Ethan. “I did.” Grief—over his dead wife and over Amber—had clearly aged him, etching sorrow upon his rugged features.
Across the table, Nash leaned forward. “It’s not right this breach between family members. Nor among believers.” The flame of the candle flared. “I’ve told Amber Dawn so. But she’s stubborn.”
Dwight’s mouth pursed. “Like her father.”
“There is that.” Nash placed his palms flat on the tablecloth. “But I’ve not given up on the Lord softening her heart to you. I’m in faith believing through God’s sovereignty that all things work for good for those who love Him.”
All things? Ethan stared at the flickering flame inside the glass lantern. His dad leaving? Lucy and Stella not having a father? He didn’t see how any of that could work out for anyone’s good, much less his own.
Dwight shook his head. “It’s my fault for what happened.”
Nash steepled his hands. “But where would any of us be without the grace of the Father’s forgiveness to us?”
Lucy turned toward Dwight. “My name is Woocy.” She motioned to her sister. “Her name’s Stehwaa.” She tilted her blond head. “What’s your name?”
“Dwight.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Dwight Fleming.”
Ethan froze the instant he said it.
“Fweming?” Lucy laughed. “Isn’t dat funny, Stehwaa? We have de same name as him.”
Jake studied the tablecloth. Nash shuffled his feet. Dwight threw Ethan an apologetic look.
Speeches over, the band burst into a lively folk tune, and Lucy almost turned her chair over trying to get out of the seat. “I wuv dis song!” She pulled at Ethan’s arm. “Let’s dance, Efan. Come on. I show you.”
He paused beside Stella. “Do you want to dance, too?”
She pursed her lips. “No, thank you.”
Jake rose to dance with Maisie. Leaving Stella in Nash’s care, Ethan allowed himself to be towed to the small dance floor. Lucy’s dancing was more function than form. Like everything else in her young life, she threw herself into dancing with a hearty gusto. He soon realized that all he had to do was to stand still and let Lucy gyrate around him as if he were a maypole.
It was slightly funny. Okay, it was hilarious. Smiling at him, the other couples carefully skirted around Lucy’s flailing limbs. Their warmth took him aback. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of Truelove approval.
He could get used to this. Ethan frowned. Too used to feeling as if he belonged. He reminded himself he couldn’t wait to be shed of this one-stoplight town. The sooner, the better.
Ethan glanced at the bebopping Lucy. Although that would mean leaving the girls, too. And Amber. His heart shrank at the prospect. Leaving him second-guessing himself.
Which he hated.
After the song ended, Nash claimed Lucy for the next dance. Ethan sat with Maisie and Stella so Jake could dance with his wife.
Ever bold, Lucy touched Dwight’s arm. “Where’s your daughter, Mr. Fweming?”
A mist enveloped his eyes. “She—she couldn’t be here with me tonight, sweetheart.”
Lucy smiled. “I have a gweat idea... Efan doesn’t need two pwincesses. I can be your pwincess for dis dance, Mr. Fweming. Would you wike dat?”
Dwight’s chin wobbled. “I’d like that so much, Lucy.” He swallowed. “If that’s all right with you, Ethan?”
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Ethan nodded.
Delighted, Lucy led the grandfather she didn’t know she had to the dance pavilion. Leaving Ethan and Stella alone at the table. He examined his watch. It was long past the girls’ usual bedtime. At least tomorrow was Saturday.
The band segued into an old-fashioned waltz. Gazing at the milling crowd, Stella appeared small in the white fold-up chair. He should think about getting the girls home to Amber.
He’d risen to his feet to call Lucy when an inexplicable urge to ask Stella to dance one more time overcame him. Here went nothing but—
“Stella, you don’t have to if you don’t want to...” He held out his hand. “But would you like to dance with me?”
The candle cast a glow on her face. Her gaze ping-ponged from his hand to his face and back again. Well, at least he’d tried.
She edged out of her chair. “Okay.”
He blinked at her for a second before gathering his wits. “Great. Fantastic. Marvelous.”
Slipping her hand in his, she shook her head, but a smile played on her small lips. “Don’t oversell it, Ethan.”
He laughed, the resemblance between Stella and her mother never sharper.
Once on the dance floor, however, she faltered.
“I don’t know how to do this dance,” she whispered.
Ethan bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not much of a dancer, either, but Gigi did make me learn this one.” He took both of her hands. “How about you step on my feet and I’ll move for both of us?”
He hardly felt her weight. “This is called a waltz, Stella. I can remember sometimes Gigi and my grandfather used to dance in the kitchen.”
A sweet memory he hadn’t recalled until now. How his grandmother must miss his granddad. He sure did.
Concentrating on not falling off his shoes, Stella bit her lip.
“If you can count to four, you can do the waltz, Stella.”
She jutted her chin. “I can count to a hundred.”
He smiled. “You are a smart girl. When I was your age I could only count to zero.”
She rolled her eyes at him. He smiled. Seeing more and more of her mother. The best of her mother.
“That’s silly, Ethan.”
“For a waltz, you only need to count to four. Help me count, okay?” He winked. “In case I still get my numbers confused.”
That earned him a smile. A small smile. But hey, he’d take what he could get when it came to Stoic Stella.
“Here we go. One...” Holding her hands, he glided left. “Two...” He slid forward. “Three...” Back where they’d begun. “We make a box.”
She peered at him, a quizzical look on her face.
“A square.”
“I know about squares and triangles.” She cocked her head. “I know about octagons, too, although I can’t spell it.”
“Can’t spell it yet, you very smart girl, you.”
She smiled, a real one this time. And he felt able to slay dragons. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
“One. Two. Three.” He twirled her on his feet around the dance floor, just to show her off. “One. Two. Three.”
Her eyes lighting up, she waved at the astonished Lucy before she remembered she needed to hold on to his hands. Eyes widening, she teetered. Ethan caught her arm just in the nick of time.
The waltz, which was the last song of the evening, ended. He brought Stella to the table. Callie made a point of congratulating her on learning a new dance. Lucy poked out her lips.
He tweaked the tip of her nose. “N
ext waltz is for you.” And then remembered there would be no next Sweetheart Dance for him. Next year this time, he’d be in Wilmington. Amber, Lucy and Stella would be far, far away here in Truelove.
His stomach clenched.
Was he making a mistake?
Chapter Nine
Every few minutes—Amber couldn’t seem to help herself—she got off the couch and checked the driveway for signs of their return.
Restless, she found herself unable to concentrate on studying. Instead, she scrolled through the photos that Callie had emailed of the girls and Ethan. The picture of Stella standing on Ethan’s shoes while they danced reduced her to tears. They looked so sweet together. So right.
The way it should’ve always been for her girls. With a father who loved them enough to stick around, good times or bad. She mourned for the special father-daughter bond she’d once shared with her dad. Her heart ached for the fatherly love the twins had been denied. For all the future father-daughter moments they’d likely never know.
Impatient with herself, she swiped away the tears. Aside from the love she lavished on her girls, she’d spent the last five years in a state of self-imposed numbness. Because when Tony abandoned them, she’d lost more than a husband.
She’d lost her self-confidence. Her self-esteem. Worst of all, her belief in finding personal happiness. Her girlish daydreams of love had been ground to dust.
Thereafter, she’d resolved to focus her energy—both physical and emotional—on her children and nursing school. Yet ever since Ethan returned, she’d been feeling tendrils of hope springing forth in the soil of her heart once again.
And that was an invitation to disaster.
She couldn’t afford hope. The loss of it was simply too devastating to bear. Better to root it out now. To confine herself to practicalities.
It was after nine when she finally heard the whine of an engine. She hurried onto the porch as Ethan shut off the motor and got out of the truck. She’d meant to ask him where he’d gotten the truck...
Tie loosened, collar unbuttoned, Ethan came around the hood. “We’re back.”