End Of The Road: (A Clean Romance Novella) (Women's Adventure in Alaska Romance Book 3)

by Renee Hart

  So if maybe you want a simple thing, well, that's me. I'm a simple man. And it'd be nice to hear back from you.

  Yours,

  Harold

  I re-read the email again, wondering who this man was. He spoke with such simple honesty that I felt a twinge in my chest, imagining the loneliness he might be going through. I knew what that loneliness felt like. And I knew just what he meant about wanting everything. It had been that way with Sunil.

  We'd moved to this country because we had high hopes for the future, for a family and a place to raise our children, living simple lives. It hadn't worked out that way. And the dozen unread messages I'd just deleted moments ago showed that I had been dangerously close to wanting nothing, nothing at all.

  I thought that would have been most tragic indeed.

  I searched online for an appropriate quote of my own to lead off my response, then I wrote a short and simple reply:

  The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

  Dear Harold,

  I think once I wanted the same things you described. Maybe that's simply the folly of youth. I'm older now, and I certainly hope a little wiser, and I think I'm ready to want something simple. I'd be happy to share my wants with you over coffee, and maybe see if I might want something more.

  Yours,

  S

  I never signed these messages with my full name. I'd heard too many horror stories about internet stalkers. I sent the message, then leaned back in my chair, sipping the last of my tea. My nerves had settled, and I'd managed to banish my fears about dealing with Sunil.

  I'd call my lawyer in the morning and see how things were progressing with the dispute over the land. And maybe, I hoped, I'd get another email from the only true gentleman I'd ever yet found in the world of online dating.

  Chapter 4

  The next day, I went to work with a smile on my face. I walked into the library with a lightness in my step. Sylvia Plath watched me from the glass case by the entrance, and I gave her a wink on my way by.

  “Someone's in a good mood,” Jessica said as I stepped behind the front desk. “What, did you meet someone last night?”

  “Jessica!” I shook my head at her. Jessica was a good ten years younger than me, and a lot more open about certain things.

  “Well, you're obviously in a good mood about something.” She smiled at me, giving me a knowing look.

  I took off my jacket and hung it over the back of my chair. “Maybe I am,” I said. I watched her from the corner of my eye. She knew me too well, and I was sure she was going to get it out of me, one way or the other.

  “So are you going to spill?” she asked as she sorted through a stack of returned books. “Or do I need to keep guessing?”

  I sat behind the desk and booted up the computer to go over my morning reports. “There's nothing to tell, yet. There might not be anything to tell at all.”

  “But that means there might be something.” She lifted a stack of books onto a cart, still watching me for any sign of what had me in a good mood.

  “Maybe.” I smiled, refusing to make eye contact.

  “Uh-huh.” She shook her head at me as she wheeled the cart around the desk. “All right, I'll let you off the hook for now. But you're gonna spill!” She pointed an admonishing finger at me as she rolled the cart away to get started on the returns.

  I was busy with my reports for awhile, stopping every now and then to assist a student who needed help finding a book. Even though the university gave all the students a seminar on using the library's computer system to search for what they needed, they all seemed to come to me for help. I was never sure if they had all simply forgotten what they learned in the seminar, or if they were all lazy. Probably a combination of the two.

  It wasn't even like they had to know how to use a card catalog, since everything was computerized. Kids these days were so spoiled.

  I was settling back into my seat to get back to work after the umpteenth interruption when a voice said, “Morning, Sharada.”

  I looked up and saw the lumberjack standing there with a book.

  A beaming smile spread across my face. The lumberjack rarely spoke to anyone on the staff, other than wishing us all a good morning or a good day as he came and went. He somehow knew all of our names, even though we'd never been formally introduced. I supposed he had learned our names from the placards sitting at the front desk.

  “Good morning, sir.” I hated not knowing his name. Jessica and I made guesses about it sometimes. We figured he had to be a Hank or a Chuck. Or maybe Finn. Some kind of woodsy, outdoorsman name. Jessica insisted on calling him Paul and claimed she had seen him driving out of the parking lot in a big blue pickup truck she had dubbed Babe.

  I brushed a strand of black hair over my ear and asked, “How can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you could order something through the Inter-Library Loan service?” he handed me the book he was holding.

  I looked at the cover and read the title. “Little Women?” My smile widened. It wasn't often that I saw men reading a book like Little Women. Though the lumberjack's tastes were so varied that it didn't really surprise me.

  “I heard there was a sequel?” he asked. “I figured if I was going to read one, I might as well read both.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “There are two sequels, actually. Little Men and Jo's Boys. Though come to think of it, I don't believe we have either in stock.”

  “I looked,” he said. “Didn't see them. Was hoping you could help me with that.”

  “I'd be happy to.” I checked through the computer, searching the Inter-Library Loan system. I found copies of both sequels, each at a different library in different states. “I can order both of these on loan today. They take about two weeks to get here, sometimes a little less.”

  “That'll be just fine,” he said. “You'll let me know when they come in?”

  “Of course.” I finished punching in the order, though when I got to the end of the form I had to pause at the “Borrower's Name” line.

  “Thanks so much,” the lumberjack said. He turned and walked off. I opened my mouth to stop him, then hesitated. Did he know that I didn't know his name? I'd spoken to him enough times, even if it was always in passing, that it seemed rude to ask him now. There was a point where you couldn't just ask someone's name without making a complete fool out of yourself.

  By the time I got over my hesitation, he was already out the door.

  I sighed and typed “Lumberjack Paul” into the name line, then hit “Submit.” I felt a little foolish, and I hoped that he wouldn't see the name I had put for him. I'd have to hide the receipt when the books arrived.

  A few minutes later, Jessica returned from putting away returns. “You'll never guess what our lumberjack is reading now,” I told her. I held up the copy of Little Women and showed it to her. We both had a little giggle over it.

  We were still laughing over the lumberjack's unpredictable reading choices when a woman in a smart gray pants suit walked into the library, carrying a briefcase. I stood up from behind my desk as she approached, giving her a professional smile. She didn't look like any of the professors or staff I knew. “Hello,” I said. “How may I help you?”

  “Sharada Patil?” she asked.

  “Yes, that's right.” I glanced at Jessica, wondering what this was about.

  The woman reached into her briefcase and pulled out some papers. “Consider yourself served.”

  I stood there gawking at the papers as the woman walked out. Jessica came over and stood by my side, looking over my shoulder at the papers. “What's going on?” she asked. “What is that?”

  I flipped through the pages, skimming for the key points. I sighed when I realized what it was about. “This shouldn't be a surprise at all,” I muttered.

  “What is it?” Jessica asked.

  I threw the papers down on my desk and said, “Sunil is suing me over the land we inherited.”


  The land had belonged to Sunil's uncle on his father's side. We'd moved to New Jersey when we came to America because of Sunil's extended family in this area. His uncle had left us a sizable plot of land which for years had been a huge cranberry farm. Neither Sunil or I had any interest in becoming farmers, and the land wasn't useful for much else, since it was mostly bogs.

  Cranberries were easiest to harvest using a process they called “wet harvesting,” where the bogs were flooded, so that the best, healthiest cranberries floated to the top. Because of this, the land was heavily irrigated, and during the harvest season it could be flooded up to waist deep. This was great for cranberry farmers, but it made the land pretty undesirable to anyone else. Sunil and I had been there a few times to inspect the land, but otherwise it had sat empty since the inheritance.

  “I thought you got the land in the divorce?” Jessica asked.

  “I actually had it in my name before that,” I said. My voice took on a weary tone. “All part of Sunil's fabulous real estate scam.”

  My ex-husband had gotten involved in a number of unsavory things in our time in America. Mostly money-making schemes that skirted the boundaries of the law. I hadn't known a lot of the details of what he was doing until several years into our marriage, and even then he had kept me in the dark about most of the specifics. I'd suspected, but never been able to confirm, that some of his schemes and gone beyond dishonest into downright illegal.

  One of his scams had involved buying up real estate and trying to make quick profits by fixing up the properties as cheaply as possible, giving them a paint job and covering up anything that was wrong with the places, then trying to sell them at a higher price. He'd started the whole thing by taking out a loan and using the cranberry farms as collateral. But in order to try to avoid the risk of foreclosure, he'd transferred the deeds to the land to my name, while taking out the loans in his.

  I'd later learned that a lot of people had lost a lot of money, thanks to being tricked into buying homes that were worth far less than they'd paid for them. Eventually, the entire scam had collapsed on Sunil and left him bankrupt, but I'd managed to come out with my own finances intact after the divorce. I'd also kept the land, and Sunil's creditors hadn't been able to come after me. The whole thing had been a legal nightmare, and Sunil had barely managed to keep himself out of prison.

  Ever since the divorce, Sunil had been trying to get his uncle's land back from me. I didn't want the land. I had no use for it. It was nothing but a sore reminder of what a mistake I'd made in marrying such a dishonest man. After what he had put me through, I wasn't much inclined to turn over the valuable property to him. If he got the property back now, after his bankruptcy, the creditors wouldn't be able to stake a claim to it anymore. He'd be free to take the money and do whatever he wanted with it. That wasn't fair, as far as I was concerned. I didn't want to let him get away with his crimes and come out with a big payoff. Or worse yet, invest the money in yet another scheme to cheat innocent people out of their money.

  “What are you going to do?” Jessica asked.

  “I...I don't know.” I rubbed my fingers against my forehead. “For now, I guess I'll have to send this to my lawyer and see what he thinks. Other than that...” I shrugged and tossed the papers on my desk. The entire situation was a mess that I didn't want to deal with, but I didn't know what to do about it.

  The good mood I'd had at the start of the day had completely vanished. It seemed that even now that we were no longer married, Sunil had his ways of making my life miserable.

  Chapter 5

  After work I went to see my lawyer. The news wasn't necessarily great. While the land had been in my name during the marriage, the fact that it came from Sunil's uncle gave him a legal claim to it. Unless I decided to settle, the case would have to be decided by a judge. And I couldn't even sell the land to keep it out of Sunil's hands, or he'd simply sue me for the money from the sale.

  My lawyer and I went over all of my various options until I was overloaded with information and unable to think straight. By the time I got home it was late, I was tired, and I was miserable. The house was cold and dark. Too big for just one woman. When Sunil and I bought it, we'd made sure to get a three-bedroom home to make room for all the kids we planned to have. We'd even discussed moving into a bigger home one day, once our family grew even larger. But then Sunil had wanted to wait until we were in a better financial situation, and one excuse had led to another. More than a decade later, I was left with an empty nest that had never even been filled.

  When I finally checked my email before bed, there was another message from Harold:

  I decided it is better to scream. Silence is the real crime against humanity.

  Dear S,

  I was quite pleased to get your reply. Most of the time, the responses I get on here are, shall we say, less than pleasant. I'm glad to see you're a woman who appreciates poetry. Or at the very least, one who can use Google well enough to fake it. I find my apparent-online-IQ is quite a bit higher than the way I come off in person. I've never considered myself a wise man. But I do always try to keep learning.

  Speaking of which, I'm looking forward to learning more about you. Perhaps we could meet this weekend. There's a Barnes & Noble near where I live with a little cafe inside. I always prefer it there over the hustle and bustle of other coffee shops. People go to Starbucks when they're in a rush to get coffee on the way to work. People go to a bookstore cafe to relax and have conversations.

  If this sounds good to you, I'll meet you there in the morning. 10:00? I hope I'm not being too forward here. I haven't dated since my divorce, and I certainly wasn't using the internet to find dates before I was married.

  Yours,

  Harold

  There was a postscript with the address to the Barnes & Noble and a link to the location on Google Maps. It was close to where I lived, and I'd been there a number of times. I sent Harold a quick response, telling him that I'd be happy to meet him there. Part of me wanted to tell him I was too busy, that this was bad timing, what with my situation with Sunil. But I didn't want to get into a long explanation about the issues I was having with my ex-husband. Though since Harold was divorced himself, it was possible he'd be quite understanding.

  I decided to do my best to keep Sunil out of my mind until I heard more from my lawyer. I took a nice long bubble bath that night to wash away my aches and my worries. Then the next morning I went to work with my head held high, forcing myself to keep a positive attitude.

  “Okay,” Jessica said when she saw me that morning. “Spill it. I'm serious. You've got something going on.” She sat on my desk and crossed her arms, giving me her no-nonsense stare. I knew she wouldn't let up this time, either. It was Friday, and most of the students slept in and cut classes on Fridays, leaving the library mostly empty. We were much busier Sunday night, when students started cramming in a panic to finish all of the assignments they'd put off all weekend. Today promised to be a slow day. And a slow day meant that Jessica had nothing else to do but nag me until I let her in on my little secret.

  “Well,” I said, trying to keep myself from smiling too much. “I kind of have a date.”

  “Kind of?” Jessica asked, arching an eyebrow. “How is it 'kind of' a date? You either have a date, or you don't.”

  “It's just coffee.” I shrugged, avoiding eye contact with her. “It doesn't really mean anything. We're just going to meet. And talk.”

  “And maybe fall in love,” Jessica said, grinning. “And get married, and have babies, and invite me to the wedding and the shower and all of it.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Don't get your hopes all up. I've got way too much going on right now to start thinking about all those sorts of things. I just want this one simple thing.”

  “Well, I'm happy for you,” she said, hopping down off the desk. “It's about time. I hope he's nicer than your ex-husband.”

  “He'd just about have to be.” I sighed and rubbed a ha
nd over my eyes. I wished she hadn't brought Sunil up. It seemed like I couldn't get away from his shadow no matter how hard I tried.

  I made it through the rest of the day without incident. The next morning, I got up early and started fretting over my wardrobe. I wanted to dress attractively, but I didn't want to come on too strong. I had a few sexy dresses, but they weren't really “meet a stranger for coffee” dresses. They were more “third date” dresses.

  I eventually settled on jeans and a soft periwinkle sweater, plus my black leather high-heeled boots that made me feel alluring. I put on a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to bring out my eyes, and I headed out the door with my purse slung over my shoulder and my nervousness tucked away deep inside my gut.

  I got to the Barnes & Noble early. There were only a few people there, though none of them looked like they could be my date. I realized only after I got there that I didn't know what Harold looked like, though I was pretty sure he wasn't the goth-looking teenager texting in the back corner, nor the large woman sitting at a table with two kids in tow. I took a seat at an empty table, wondering if I should order my coffee now, or wait until he got here. I'd never been on a blind date before, so I didn't know the etiquette.

  I watched everyone who came in, though most of the people I saw passed right by the cafe and went into the bookstore. A man close to my age came in and ordered a coffee, then sat at a table not far from me. He was looking around like he was waiting for someone. We made eye contact at one point and I smiled at him, but he didn't say anything.

  I sat there wondering if I should go introduce myself. Maybe he didn't realize I was “S.” He might have been expecting a younger, blonde “Stephanie” or a thinner, redheaded “Sally.” I only realized now, as I sat there studying him, that I had never revealed anything about my age or my race. It hadn't seemed important at the time, but now it was seeming like a glaring mistake.

  I was just about to get up and go talk to him when a familiar voice said, “Sharada?”