Can't Stop Believing (HARMONY)

by Jodi Thomas

  “Chicken salad, made with walnuts and grapes, on homemade wheat bread with a slice of red velvet cake I made this morning for dessert. It’s still too warm to cut, but by the time lunch is over, it should be ready.”

  “I thought I smelled ginger?” Martha Q examined the organized kitchen. They’d added a baby cage in the corner. She knew people called them playpens, but she’d never seen a child actually playing in one.

  “Oh, you did. I’m making cookies for the fire department meeting tonight. You’re welcome to have a few as an appetizer with lunch.”

  Martha Q reevaluated her opinion of the girl. Perhaps Autumn should breed; after all, she was obviously brilliant as well as talented.

  Martha Q plopped her purse down on one of the stools. If the designer purse got any bigger or heavier, it would need rollers on the bottom; but fashion was fashion and the shopping network claimed orange went with everything this year. “Well, I guess I could keep Kate company for a while.” She’d decided years ago that food she hadn’t made or paid for was calorie free. “I might even have lunch just to make sure she eats. She needs to keep up her strength for the birthing due next week.”

  Five minutes later she sat in the breakfast area of the warm kitchen eating with Kate and told her of the problem with a full house at the bed-and-breakfast.

  Unfortunately, unlike Tyler, Kate wasn’t one to just listen. She talked, asked questions, made suggestions. Martha Q liked the woman, but she often found her exhausting. Tyler listened to her problems, but Kate tried to solve them.

  Finally, as if she were no match for interrogation, Martha Q told Kate of her worries about Bryce Galloway and, to her surprise, Kate said that if a woman who knows men as well as Martha Q did thought there was something wrong with the man, it was worth investigating.

  Then Martha Q told her about the widows getting caught trailing the man. It seemed he wasn’t willing to believe they just happened to eat at the same place he did for lunch and walk in the park at the same time of day. He not only noticed them, but he’d tattled on them to the sheriff. Everyone in town knew the sheriff had more important things to do than haul in three widows for interrogation.

  When her water broke, Kate lost interest in Martha Q’s story. All at once Martha Q’s problem was pushed aside, and everyone rallied around Kate like there hadn’t been a few billion babies already born in the world. Tyler was called and told to meet them at the hospital. Autumn ran out with two baby bags and said she had to drop off her little girl with Willie at the fire station, and then she’d meet Kate at the hospital. The secretary, two guys from the basement, and Kate all piled into one of the vans and disappeared without even waving good-bye.

  To Martha Q’s surprise, she was left in charge of the funeral home. She felt like she hadn’t been invited to the party. No one needed to go except for Kate, and she’d looked plenty calm enough to drive herself the few blocks. The two guys from the basement didn’t need to go, or the secretary. And Autumn probably had snacks in the second baby bag. Everyone was over in the waiting room laughing it up, while Martha Q was alone in a building full of rooms where dead people normally hung out.

  After waiting by the phone for fifteen minutes, during which no dead people called needing business, Martha Q locked up the front and let herself out the back door. She’d go to the hospital when all the screaming and blood was over.

  She headed home, needing a nap after all the excitement.

  When she pulled into her drive at the bed-and-breakfast, Beau Yates sat on the steps to her porch looking like the ghost of a young Johnny Cash in his black clothes and hat.

  Martha Q swore. Lobbies in this town got less wear than her front porch. Every time she left, someone seemed to be waiting for her to return. It was downright nerve-racking.

  Rolling down her window, she yelled, “Can you drive?”

  Beau stood. “Of course.”

  “Well, get in. I need a cherry lime from Sonic to wash down all the ginger cookies I ate at the funeral home.” After everyone left, Martha Q had been nervous about being in charge and munched the firehouse cookies down from three dozen to two.

  Beau took off his cowboy hat and climbed into the driver’s side like he was saddling up for a wild ride while she tried to slide across the bench seat. All her body parts didn’t seem to follow willingly. Once on the passenger side, she had to take a few moments to regroup her layers of fat.

  Beau put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive. “You should get you a new car, Mrs. Q. This one rattles worse than Leon’s old ice cream truck.”

  She ignored his insult. “My name is not Mrs. Q and you know it. I swear it’s hard to believe you’re the brighter of that nest of bums living in my duplex. If I didn’t happen to talk to Border now and then, I’d find it impossible to believe. His bulb’s not only dim, someone forgot to flip the switch on. I have a feeling his reading list consists of only his tattoos.”

  Beau smiled. “Having a good day, are you, Mrs. Q?”

  She glared at him. “No, I’m not.” She glanced up and noticed Dallas Logan, Ronny’s mother, coming out of the bank. “Run that woman over, would you, Beau? It’ll cheer me up.”

  Beau gunned the engine. “All right, if you say so.”

  Dallas Logan saw him coming, squealed like a pig before jumping to the curb, and then started yelling like she’d been robbed, raped, and run over all at the same time.

  “You nitwit,” Martha Q swore. “You missed her by a mile. Turn around and try again.”

  Beau looked at her as if he thought she might have finally lost her mind. “Come on, Mrs. Q, you can’t be serious. Who was that woman anyway?”

  “That was Ronny’s mother.”

  “Oh, why didn’t you say so?” He turned the car around in the middle of Main Street.

  By the time they got back to the spot, Dallas Logan was gone. Martha Q laughed so hard she cried, and Beau seemed to catch the disease from her.

  As soon as she could draw a breath, she yelled, “Damn if that wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had with my clothes on. It was worth risking prison to see her mouth open so wide her whole face turned into wrinkles.”

  “You’re not thinking of taking your clothes off, are you?” Beau paled.

  “No, I think you’ll have to settle for a float at Sonic. I’m not putting on any show. Those days are over.”

  When he looked relieved, she thought of hitting him, but since he was the one driving that might not be a good idea.

  They sat at the drive-in and had their drinks with Tater Tots and mustard. Then she asked him to drive her out to the cemetery so she could see where Marty was going to be buried.

  The drive cheered her up. Martha Q liked the Harmony Cemetery. The very air seemed peaceful and most of her enemies rested there below ground.

  Beau held her arm as they walked through the grass to the empty grave along the north side where tall cedars grew. Tyler Wright and his crew had everything ready. The fake grass over the mound of dirt. The folding chairs beneath a flapping green tent. The empty racks for flowers.

  She sat in one of the chairs while Beau stared into the hole and frowned like he thought he might see right into hell.

  Martha Q guessed Beau was lost in a song that played in his head. Much as she teased him, she knew talent dripped off him like sweat. She wanted to tell him to go for the dream he always talked about. Don’t let anything stop him. Don’t back down. Don’t make promises or fall in love or be dishonest even with himself. Head straight for his dream and don’t let any roadblock get in his way.

  Only, maybe it was the things that got in the way that mattered. Maybe it was the turns in life that made it worth the living, not the goals or the dreams.

  She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. She was getting way too deep. Maybe it was this creative energy running through her. If she’d given up sex ten years earlier, she could have had the energy to outrun Nora Roberts on the charts. She would have a limo driving her ar
ound, not some kid who couldn’t remember her name. She’d have so many servants she’d have to call them by number because, after all, a great writer couldn’t be expected to remember real people’s names.

  “You ready to go?” Beau broke into her daydream.

  “Sure. I’ll be renting space in this place soon enough.”

  They walked back to the car.

  “Why were you waiting on my porch? Mrs. Biggs finally wise up to you guys and lock you out of her kitchen?”

  “No, I came to see you.” He opened her car door. “I need to ask you what you think I should do.”

  Martha Q wiggled into her seat. “So many people want advice from me lately, I’m thinking of moving to a mountaintop and becoming a sage. If it wasn’t for having to wear robes and put up with eagles flying low, I’d probably be gone tomorrow.”

  Beau slid behind the wheel. “Can we make this about someone else besides you for a moment, Mrs. Q?”

  “Of course.” She thought of pouting, but at some point her round, plump face started to look pumpkin-fat when she even thought about twisting her lips together.

  Beau turned so he could face her when he said, “I think whoever reached for Ronny last night wasn’t going after her, but he might have been wanting to talk to me.”

  “What?” She was sure her eyebrows went so far up they moved into her hairline. “How in the world did you come up with that? Even people who hate country music don’t want to grab the singer.”

  “No. Hear me out. We live in the same place, just different sides. Ronny’s tall, almost exactly my height. We both wear black coats. In fact, we got them mixed up the other night when Border and I took her out after we played.”

  “Okay, black coats. Same height. It’s not exactly a CSI plot.”

  “We both walk at night in the shadows. She does it even more, I think, since Marty came back. Last night, when she was walking, it was about the time I usually take my break. I sometimes walk for a few minutes just to enjoy the clear air and the silence from the bar.”

  “You both walk. Not much to make me believe your theory, Beau.”

  “All right, how about this? Can you think of one reason anyone would want to hurt Ronny Logan?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Well, Harley, the guy who owns the bar I play in, said he saw two beefy types hanging out behind Buffalo’s Bar late one night last week. He said they were staring at my old car. He tried to talk to them and they claimed they just needed to talk to me. When he started to ask more questions, they disappeared.”

  “Maybe they wanted your autograph?”

  Beau tried again. “Not likely. Harley said they were sober. If they were fans, wouldn’t they have been inside listening?”

  Martha Q studied him. “Be honest with me. Are you seeing some woman? Maybe another man’s wife or a rich rancher’s only daughter? These guys could have just wanted to tell you to get lost.”

  Beau shrugged. “Yeah, I kind of am seeing someone, but nobody knows about it.”

  “If what you’re saying is true, then I think there is a good chance someone does know about it. They might not want you seeing whoever you’re seeing. Maybe the rich daddy hates the thought of long-haired grandsons, or the husband just hates. You might ask this secret lady if she’s married and her husband wants you beat to a pulp. It’s been my experience that affairs usually stop about the time the couple starts to talk.”

  Beau nodded. “So you’re agreeing with me that maybe these guys did want to talk to me, and I’m thinking they got Ronny last night instead.”

  “Maybe. Anyone else you know who might be waiting in the dark to have a talk with you?”

  “My dad. He tells everyone I’ve gone over to the dark side. I’ve heard his sermons usually have me in them somewhere as the bad example.”

  Martha Q’s head was starting to pound from too much figuring. She didn’t even like mystery shows. She was always worn out by the time they solved the murder. Sometimes she’d flip channels during the commercials and miss the show’s ending. Then she’d stay up half the night wondering who did it.

  “We’d better get home, Beau. You probably need to practice, and I need a nap. We’ll worry about this tomorrow. Problems never seem so bad when they’re warmed over.”

  Chapter 31

  APRIL 12

  AT HALF PAST MIDNIGHT THE FIFTH GENERATION OF Wrights in Harmony came into the world. He weighed six pounds, fourteen ounces, and his daddy, Tyler Wright, thought he was the most beautiful baby ever to be born.

  McAllens, Mathesons, and one Truman filled the waiting room. The three families who’d built Harmony stood ready to welcome Jonathan Henry Wright to town, just as they’d welcomed his great-grandfather almost a hundred and fifty years ago.

  Tyler walked through the double doors of the delivery room with little Henry in his arms, knowing that they all wished the first Wright born in forty-six years well. He also hoped that “Hank” would grow up to watch over the people just as he had, and his father, and his father, and his father.

  “My Kate says if you want to hold the baby, you got to wash your hands and put on a mask first.”

  Noah McAllen shouted, “The kid’ll think he’s been born into a band of outlaws. Come on, Mr. Wright, we just want to look at the little fellow.”

  A few others grumbled.

  “That’s Kate’s orders. She says when he cries I’m to bring him right back, so some of you better get to scrubbing.” Tyler looked down at the bundle. “Now, son, try to remember everyone’s name when I introduce you. You’ll be needing to know.”

  He passed the baby over to Adam McAllen, the oldest of the McAllen family. The tall, lean cattleman had silver in his hair but was smiling wide. They’d brought a saddle to the hospital for little Henry Wright.

  The Matheson women made a quilt for the baby, and the sheriff and her husband gave him his first spurs. Tyler lost track of all the trucks and baby clothes. It didn’t matter. He was thankful for the friends more than the gifts.

  Reagan Truman hauled a five-foot apple tree right into the hospital foyer for her gift. She said by the time he could climb, the tree would be ready for him.

  Tyler was glad a few minutes later when Hank let out a yell and the doc said visiting hours were over. He wanted to take the baby back to his Kate.

  All the people in the waiting room waved the newborn good-bye, as if he’d notice. Tyler fought back tears of joy.

  If a man’s heart could burst with love, he knew his might. He’d never considered himself good-looking, or smart, or talented in any way, but he always tried to be kind. Maybe that was the secret, because he could ask for no more in life than what he had.

  In the morning, a little after dawn, there would be a funeral for Marty Winslow. Tyler would leave Kate and go by the home to change clothes, and then he’d do his job as he had all his adult life. But his family would never be out of his thoughts. From now on, no matter how sad the day, he’d be heading home smiling. Kate would be waiting, and they planned to spend their days watching Jonathan Henry grow.

  Maybe that was how his great-grandfather had felt when he’d nailed a hand-painted sign on the fence by the road after his crops failed. The sign said simply: WILL UNDERTAKE ANY HONEST WORK. The first Henry Wright hadn’t set out to become an undertaker; he’d just wanted to feed his family, and he’d found a way to help the entire community.

  “Tyler,” Kate whispered as she held the baby close against her. “Now, we begin.”

  “Yes, my Kate, now we begin.”

  Chapter 32

  APRIL 12

  HARMONY CEMETERY

  CORD STOOD STONE STILL AS HE WATCHED THE HEARSE winding slowly up the hill. He couldn’t remember attending a funeral before he went to prison, and he hadn’t been able to attend either of his parents’ burials. This was his first time.

  He’d expected only a few people, but there were at least forty. Most folks didn’t know Marty, but they knew Ronny and they’d stand bes
ide her this day.

  The long black funeral car stopped in the middle of the road and Tyler Wright climbed out. He opened the back and six men slowly pulled out a plain wooden casket. Three tall businessmen in their early forties on one side and the Biggs brothers on the other, with Beau Yates sandwiched between them.

  As they moved up the hill the last few feet, Cord felt Nevada’s hand slip into his. He wondered if she had any idea how much he wanted to run. He was twenty-eight and staring eye to eye at death for the first time. When he’d been told his mom and then his dad had died, he hadn’t reacted at all. He’d been too hard by then to care. Nothing changed. The next day was the same hell as the day before. So Cord guessed their deaths didn’t seem real. Nothing did back then. He’d shut down, turned off all emotion. After a few months in prison, a light went out that he thought would never turn back on.

  Only it had. One thing had happened that made him care if he lived or died. Cord felt like he was standing in death’s garden coming alive again cell by cell.

  He tried to remember the exact moment it happened. Not when he got out of prison. Not when he went back home. Cord McDowell had come alive the day that Nevada had driven up on his land and asked him to marry her. He couldn’t name the exact moment his heart started beating again, but it was around the time he realized he was going to take her offer no matter what the conditions.

  Before that day he should have been taking his pulse every morning just to make sure he was among the living.

  Nevada tugged on his hand and they began to follow the others toward the grave. Ronny sat in the front row with Mr. Carleon on one side and Martha Q on the other. Cord had no problem telling which were Marty’s family and friends and which were there for Ronny.

  City folks and country folks, he thought. Someone had said that Marty’s brother had been in London and told them to go ahead with the funeral without him. There were a few fashion statements there who looked bored and antsy to leave. They must have been his cousins from Oklahoma City. Ronny’s friends looked truly sad as they huddled near her; most had their work clothes on because as soon as the funeral was over they’d head back to work.