Marisa cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. Not a car she recognized. It couldn’t be Jase’s, could it? Why would he track her down in 24 hours when he hadn’t in 27 months? Anyway, the driver’s silhouette wasn’t tall enough.
She sighed and turned on the hose at the greenhouse. Might as well rinse the worst of the dirt off her hands before shaking the hand of someone she didn’t know.
The car — a rental from Avis — purred to a stop beside her and a woman got out, reddish hair swinging to her shoulders. Pretty smile directed her way. “Marisa Hiller, by any chance?”
“Yes, that’s me. Have we met?”
The woman hesitated. “I don’t think so. I’m Kristen O’Brien, partly from Salt Lake City.”
And partly from Beverly Hills?
Marisa shoved the thought aside and wiped her hands dry on dirt-smudged jeans. She held one out to Kristen. “Pleased to meet you.”
When Kristen smiled, freckles danced on her nose. She shook Marisa’s hand. “Likewise.” She gestured toward the turmoil as the two remaining young women corralled children into vehicles. “I wanted to speak with you, but it seems I should have called ahead to make an appointment.”
“Marisa! Did you say you found more canning jars?” Bren Haddock called out from beside her battered car.
“A moment, please,” Marisa said to Kristen as she turned to Bren. “Yes, Mrs. Abercrombie donated dozens of them last week when she moved into the condo. They’re mostly quarts. How many do you need?”
Bren eyed the hatchback full of boxes of ripe tomatoes. “We figured this was about a hundred pounds? So four dozen, if you’ve got that many.”
Thankfully, she did. Ever since the women’s group at church had clued into Marisa’s ministry, they’d scoured their cellars and neighborhoods for unused jars and tools. Mrs. Abercrombie had even donated all the proceeds from the garage sale she’d held before her move, enabling Marisa to buy a tool shed to put on the five acres she’d set aside for her families to use.
“Excuse me,” Marisa said to Kristen. “The gang is nearly ready to head home, and I have a few things to do. In ten minutes, it will all be quiet.”
“Sure. Thank you.” Kristen glanced toward the greenhouse. “Mind if I look around a little? I promise not to touch anything or snoop.”
Marisa had nothing to hide. She shrugged. “Go for it.” She turned to Bren. “Let’s find you some jars. Do you even have room for them?”
“In the front seat.” She peered into the hatchback. “You kids stay buckled up, you hear? I’ll be back in a minute.”
Marisa passed boxes of jars out to Bren then tossed a few packages of snap lids into the last one. Courtesy of the women’s group.
Bren stuffed the last box into the hatchback and turned to Marisa, surprising her with an impulsive hug. “Thanks so much. You can’t begin to understand how much you’ve done for my kids.”
Marisa hugged her back. “It’s not me. You’re doing all the work. I’m just giving you a place to do it.”
“And friends. And support. I couldn’t do it without you.”
“You’re a good mom. You’d have found a way, but I’m so thankful God brought us together.”
A shriek billowed out the car’s open windows. “Mommy, make him stop!”
Marisa grinned and peered in. “Hey, buddy. Quit picking on your sister. Are you going to help your mom can tomatoes tonight?”
Eight-year-old Davy shook his head emphatically. “No, I’m going to eat them. With salt and pepper.”
“All of them?” Marisa’s eyebrows rose.
The boy glanced over the back seat. “Not all of them today.”
Bren started the car, and the exhaust backfired. The engine didn’t sound so good either. But what more could Marisa do? She didn’t know a mechanic who’d be willing to donate time. She waved as the heavily loaded car rumbled down the driveway then turned back to the greenhouse to finish cleaning up for the day.
Oops. The white sedan. The red-haired woman.
Thankfully Mom had noticed her oversight. She and Kristen strolled toward the house, chatting and laughing like old friends, with Baxter beside them. Marisa lengthened her stride and caught up just as Mom pointed Kristen to a wicker chair on the porch.
“There you are, Marisa! Did Kristen tell you why she came to the farm?” Mom held the kitchen’s screen door open.
“No, she didn’t have a chance yet. Do you want me to pour some lemonade?”
“I’ll get it. You’ve been working hard. Just sit down and visit with our new friend.” Mom disappeared and the screen door smacked shut.
Kristen dropped into the wicker chair. “I was just telling your mom that I’m very interested in your family history.”
“Oh?” Some kind of long-lost cousin, perhaps? Unlikely. The clan had never run to large families. Marisa settled onto the porch swing and let it twist.
“Yes. My parents bought a resort here last year. I understand your ancestors owned it back when it was still known as the Tomah Inn.”
Also until her ancestors’ lives had soured in the Great Depression. At least they’d been able to sell it for enough to buy this farm. She’d rather have thirty acres of farmland than a swanky inn any day of the year.
Mom brought out a tray with a plate of cookies and three glasses of lemonade, clinking with ice cubes, and set them on a side table. “It’s good to see something happening there again. It’s changed hands so many times and fallen into neglect.”
“Yes. It was so well constructed back then the rose rock exterior of the original building suffered little from the neglect. The interior — well...” Kristen laughed. “It needed a lot more work to bring it up-to-date while keeping the charm. All new electrical and plumbing, of course, with everything else restored as much as possible. You should come see it. It’s a piece of Helena’s history. Your family’s history.”
Marisa reached for a lemonade. “Maybe sometime. The farm is very busy this time of year. Frankly, we almost welcome the first heavy frost of the fall so the craziness subsides.”
Kristen turned sparkling green eyes on Marisa. “That is so fascinating. I’ve never been on a farm before. I do grow herbs on my kitchen windowsill. Does that count?”
It would take a mighty large windowsill to supply The Parrot with enough rosemary for their salted caramels. “It’s a great start.” Why did Kristen care? Maybe it didn’t matter. Marisa couldn’t help liking her anyway.
“We have a bit of memorabilia from the family’s early days at the inn. Why don’t I show you?” Mom hurried into the house and came back a moment later with a carved wooden box.
Tucking a strand of long hair behind her ear, Kristen leaned over as Mom opened it. “Oh, how interesting. Like what?”
Mom set a newspaper clipping on the table along with a few photographs. “My great-great-grandmother was the first winner of the Miss Snowflake Pageant. But she didn’t keep the tiara. She’d also won a bigger prize.”
Kristen glanced at Marisa.
Awareness settled over Marisa like a suffocating blanket. So that’s why the visitor was here. She could see it clearly now. She surged to her feet, and the swing slammed the back of her knees. “No.”
Creases furrowed Mom’s forehead as she glanced up. “No, what?”
“No, I’m not entering. That part of my life is over.”
Mom looked from one to the other. “Who said anything about—”
Marisa locked eyes with Kristen. “If you’re here to dredge up old history and ask me to enter the pageant, the answer is no.”
“They’re bringing back the pageant?” Mom’s voice rose as excitement caught hold. “But, Marisa—”
“Mom, don’t even start.”
“My brother said you’d say no.”
Marisa’s eyes narrowed. “Your brother?”
“Jase. He said it was a waste of my time to talk to you, but I had to try. It means so much to the community.”
“Jase. You mean�
��” Marisa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The red-gold hair. The sparkling smile. Eyes as green as a glacier-fed lake. Of course she was Jase’s sister.
“Is that the Jase I heard so much about?” Mom was clearly lost.
She wasn’t the only one. Focus, Marisa. “The community? You said you live in Salt Lake City.”
“I do, but this is my parents’ home and my brother’s. I’m an event planner, so Dad and some of the other hotel owners asked me to run the pageant to coincide with Helena’s 150-year anniversary. There are so many events going on we’re having a bit of trouble lining up enough sponsors. The business community is holding back, not fully investing in the idea until they believe it will be a success. They haven’t caught the vision of how many visitors a pageant like this could bring to the city this fall. Besides, it’s a special birthday for the state of Montana, too.”
“It’s a wonderful idea.” Mom clasped her hands together. “You would do Calista proud, my dear. Maybe history would re—”
“I said no.” Marisa cast an apologetic glance at Kristen. “It’s not that I want the pageant to fail or tourism to struggle or that I don’t care about my city or my state, but I’m busy here. You saw the families leaving as you drove in. These are people I can make a difference for. They are whom my life revolves around.”
Kristen’s gaze softened. “The economy has been so hard on them, hasn’t it?”
Marisa crossed her arms. The woman with all those glittering rings on her fingers had no idea. “It has.”
“Don’t you see? This pageant can make a real difference. Bringing tourists in strengthens everything. It provides more jobs, so parents can take better care of their families.” Kristen’s gesture took in the vegetable gardens lining the driveway. “They need so much more than food.”
“Grandmother Calista cared for those in need, too. That’s why she entered the pageant back in her day.” Mom pulled a sheet of music out of the wooden box. “That’s why she chose Away in a Manger for her talent piece. She knew poor children were lucky to have even a stable to sleep in, let alone enough to eat, and she believed she could help.”
“I’m already making a difference.” Even if Jase didn’t think so, or approve. Jase. Had he sent his sister here?
“Every contestant nowadays competes with a platform.” Kristen smoothed the front of her skirt. “Some support a cure for diabetes or heart disease or autism. There are many worthy causes.” She looked up and faced Marisa squarely. “But there are never too many voices for the poor, the marginalized. The pageant could multiply what you can do on your own.”
Marisa rubbed her hand across her forehead, where a headache threatened to set in. “This doesn’t sound like the Jase I used to know. What’s in it for him?”
“My brother? He’s the official event photographer.”
Enter the pageant and give him room to criticize her again? No. “Even more reason not to change my answer.”
CHAPTER 3
“Oh, no, that looks like a blemish.” Avalon Penhaven leaned over Jase’s shoulder and peered at herself on the computer screen. “Zoom in on the left cheek, high up. See that?”
Jase gritted his teeth and tapped the stylus on the area she’d indicated. He’d already zoomed Photoshop in so far no one could tell whose face he touched up.
“Jase, darling, you have to fix it before Dad sees it.”
His nose twitched at her floral scent. He barely had time to turn his face away before he sneezed. “Excuse me.” He reached for a tissue from the box on his desk.
At least Avalon stepped back. “Are you coming down with something? I haven’t had my flu shot yet. I hope I don’t get sick.”
“No, I’m fine.” At least he would be if she gave him a little space. He tapped the screen again to zoom out.
Avalon Penhaven in front of him, Avalon Penhaven behind him. Two Avalons too many. What had he seen in her, anyway? He studied her virtual face.
“I thought you would fix that spot and even out my complexion.”
“If I evened out your complexion any more than this, you’d be left looking like an unbaked pastry. Your face needs its natural tones.” He tipped his head and examined the image critically. “Besides, at this resolution, I can’t even pick out the bit you were talking about.”
“Oh, Jase, don’t be silly. I just want to look my best for Mother and Dad.”
He pushed the rolling chair back and swiveled so he could see the real Avalon, not the princess in the computer.
She backed up a step and perched on the edge of the upholstered visitor’s chair a few feet away, twisting both hands around a pair of knit striped gloves.
“Why are you so worried, Avalon? Your parents love you. And besides, you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.” It was no more than the truth, and he’d made a living taking photos of drop-dead gorgeous women.
Avalon’s head jerked up and she met his gaze. “Really? Do you think so?”
Jase tried not to pull his eyebrows together in a frown, but it was difficult. How could she not know? “Really.”
“But…”
He reached for her hand, and she clung to him with amazing ferocity. “And you have more going for you than beauty. You have your degree in investment. You get great acting roles with Grandstreet Theatre.” She ought to. For Avalon, everything was staged.
“Dad wanted a boy.”
And he’d taken it out on his daughter?
She looked down again, her Sergio Rossi boot tracing the wood grain of his studio’s floor. “It’s hard to be good enough when your parents wanted something else completely.”
A trickle of sympathy niggled against his better judgment. His parents had encouraged him and Kristen to find themselves and be the best they could be, but not so they’d look good in front of their parents’ friends. Happiness was their goal. That, and following God’s call on their lives. “No one can be good enough on their own. The only one we actually need to worry about impressing is God, and it’s not possible without His help.”
She jerked her hand away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve decided to enter the Miss Snowflake Pageant, so I need that portrait perfect for my portfolio.”
Jase turned back to the computer and examined the fictitious Avalon one more time. Her long hair, streaked blond, swung past her shoulders. He’d managed to catch a sparkle in her brown eyes that didn’t always exist. A face perfectly made up. Having looked away for a minute, he couldn’t begin to guess where she’d wanted a touch-up.
He clicked save. “I’ll get the flash drive to you tomorrow.”
“Jase? Do you think I’ll win?”
He turned back to face her, making certain a casual grin was in place. “I’m not a judge, just the event photographer. A pageant can get quite grueling, but I’m sure you’re up for it. You’ll do fine.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Don’t do it for your father. Do it if you want to, for yourself and whatever cause you choose to promote.”
“Cause?” Her eyes flared in alarm.
Yeah, he’d seen that coming. “The contestants each have a platform they promote. It can be nearly anything that means a lot to you.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Some women bring awareness to social conditions. Others raise money for cancer research.” His mind slid to Marisa. Would she join? “Some for hungry kids in Africa. I can’t pick it for you. Just find something to be passionate about.” Besides yourself.
She puckered her pretty face into a frown. “That sounds hard.”
“You’ll think of something.” The timer jingled on his iPhone, and he pushed to his feet. “Sorry, I have another appointment arriving in five minutes.”
Avalon rose, too, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Jase. I’ll come by tomorrow for my photos. What time is good?”
“Any time after three.” He wished he felt something besides sympathy as she strode for the door.
~*~
Marisa heaved a carton of eggplant off the tailgate of her truck.
“Let me get that.” Bob Delaney reached for the box. “Any more where those came from?”
“Two more.” She pulled off her work gloves and tightened her ponytail.
Bob eyed her. “You missed last night’s CSA meeting.”
She shot him a rueful grin. “Too busy. So much is still coming off the garden and with our hired help at part time now that school’s in, it leaves more for me to do. Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“We did have enough members there for a quorum.” He plunked the box on the receiving table and turned back to her. “We made a decision or two we thought you should know about.”
“Me?” It wasn’t the first meeting of Tomah Community Supported Agriculture she’d missed. She’d get the minutes in her email and glance through them when she had time. December, perhaps. Or January.
“Yes, you. I know you fully support the CSA and everything we stand for.”
That was easy. “Of course.”
“Well, then, you’ll be happy to be our spokesperson.”
An inkling of unease tickled Marisa’s gut. “What do you have in mind?”
The old guy hitched his pants and met her gaze squarely. “We voted unanimously to sponsor you in the Miss Snowflake Pageant as our representative.”
They what?
He held up his hand. “Hear me out. We have money in the advertising budget and couldn’t agree on how to spend it. Ads in The Independent Record don’t bring in a lot of new customers. We need something to kick it up a notch.”
“No.”
“Mike said you’d say that.”
“Then he should have voted against.”
Bob pushed through as though she hadn’t spoken. “So we discussed it, looking for something that would make you change your mind.”
She crossed her arms and widened her stance. “Uh huh.” If she did it, she’d see a lot of Jase. Find out if there was any residual spark from their whirlwind romance in Kenya. Did she want to see Jase? Yes.
More Than a Tiara: A Christian Romance (Christmas in Montana Romance Book 1) Page 2