by Terri Osburn
“It does. Are these the plants we’re going with?” she asked, approaching the three pots arranged front to back in the closest bed.
Watching her kneel to sniff the centers, he said, “What do you think? Do you like them?”
Through the planning process, he’d made sure to ask her opinion, always making a decision together. As he’d expected, she’d proved to be a fast learner and on at least two occasions offered suggestions that hadn’t occurred to him. Like using the same low-growth white roses in the center of each bed to ensure they complemented instead of clashed.
“I think we should bring the pink up so that all the cosmos are in the front.” She did exactly that before stepping to the right in order to see the entire back half of the circle in one glance. “These shades of pink and orange pop beautifully, and then subtle tones of the yellow rhododendron and the purple rock cress in the back rows should give a nice, rich feel.”
Stepping up behind her, Justin dragged her against his chest. “And the student becomes the teacher,” he pronounced, kissing her temple.
She curled into him. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Tilting her head up, she asked, “What did you do this morning while I was playing dress the bridesmaid?”
Justin hadn’t told Abby about the meeting with the broker. He didn’t want her to think he planned to abandon their new venture to chase after land deals. If they moved forward, he’d share the details.
“Q is looking at a piece of property on the edge of town,” he offered as a half-truth. “I agreed to give him my opinion.”
“Is he moving here?” she asked, understandably curious.
“It’s more an investment-type deal. Are you ready for some heavy lifting?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’ve got a truck full of these plants that we need to bring over.” The previous four days had been spent installing the boxwoods and readying the beds, meaning they could finally start getting plants in the ground.
Abby rubbed her hands together. “I’m not wearing my grungy clothes for nothing.”
Waiting for traffic to clear, they crossed to the old Chevy parked in front of Carter’s Barber Shop.
“So you and this Q person went to college together?” she asked.
“Yep,” Justin answered, loading her with two pots of rock cress before grabbing four for himself.
“Is he from close to here?”
“No, Q grew up in Chicago.”
“Is that how you stayed in touch? Living in the same city?”
They paused again before taking advantage of a lull in traffic. “Something like that,” Justin replied, delicately lowering his cargo. He placed Abby’s two next to his four and said, “We’re going to need five more for this row.”
To his relief, Abby didn’t ask any more questions on the next trip over and back, but as soon as he lined up the last pots, she resumed her inquiry.
“I’m just curious as to why, if Q lives in Chicago, he’s buying property around Ardent Springs.”
Running out of evasions, Justin tossed in a little more truth. “Nashville’s economy is better than most places. Makes it a smart choice for investing right now.”
Abby dropped to the dirt and sat back on her heels. “But he isn’t buying in Nashville. You just said he’s looking on the edge of Ardent Springs.”
“Is there some reason you need to know all this?” he asked, tone clipped with annoyance.
She snapped back with annoyance of her own. “I’m interested because he’s a part of your life that you don’t ever talk about.”
Justin cleared a hole for the first plant. “The past isn’t worth talking about.”
“The past makes you who you are, Justin. And I’ve been pretty open about mine.” Taking care to remove the first plant from its pot, she handed it over. “I guess sometimes I just feel like I don’t know anything about you.”
Evading, he said, “You’ve known me since I was ten, Abby. You know my parents and what the room I grew up in looks like.”
“And there’s a giant gap between when you left that bedroom and when I brought you back into my life by setting my kitchen on fire. I want to fill in that gap.”
At some point Justin would spill all his secrets. Just not today.
“I’m a hardworking guy who aims high and really likes girls who wear stained old T-shirts and high-swinging ponytails. Is that enough for now?”
Abby nodded. “I guess so. For now.”
Leaning forward, Justin brushed his lips over hers. “Are we okay?”
“Of course,” she said, eyes cast down.
“Abby?” He tipped her chin up. “I need a little time. That’s all.”
She brushed a bit of dirt off his cheek. “I get that. And I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, baby.”
With a deep sigh, she flashed a teasing grin. “We should get back to work now.”
Returning to the task at hand, he said, “Yes, ma’am. Back to work.”
She could finally cook again. Thanks to a Saturday installation more than three weeks after her epic cake disaster, Abby’s kitchen was once again complete. The shiny new stainless steel appliance gleamed like a brand-new penny, and to celebrate she’d promised Justin a candlelit dinner featuring one of the few things she made well—bacon-coated meatloaf.
All week she’d worn frumpy clothes and smelled like a gym bag left out in the mud by the end of the day. Tonight she wanted to look pretty, feel clean, and make a man a home-cooked meal. She had thirty minutes to get ready while the meatloaf cooked, as she’d cut the recipe in half for a dinner for two and timed everything down to the minute. Justin would arrive at seven o’clock, and dinner would be on the table, hot and ready, at seven oh five.
If all went well, she’d be hot and ready an hour later, maybe sooner.
Their conversation from the day before still lingered in her mind. Until now she’d believed Justin hadn’t intentionally been hiding anything. She knew he’d lost his job and had assumed if she ever asked for more details, he’d provide them. Only she had asked, and he’d kept her in the dark. Which stirred Haleigh’s words in her mind.
Don’t go into this blind.
Too late for that, Abby lamented. She would simply have to be patient. Bide her time, take each day as it came, and let things happen. Of course, plenty of things were happening already, which was why she’d gotten off schedule thanks to standing in the middle of her closet, stressing about what to wear.
The little denim number she’d dragged from the back of her closet before her shower no longer fit. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that in the last three years, she’d gained weight in her boobs as well as her hips. The gym membership was back on.
A ten-minute panic ensued, in which the dark crevices of her closet were searched until Abby found a simple white cotton number with delicate red flowers embroidered around the neckline and the hem. The dress had been a spontaneous online purchase the previous fall, though she’d yet to find a reason to wear it. As she held the hanger high, the fabric swayed, bringing the flowers to life, and her choice became obvious.
A walking garden she would be.
Tossing her towel into the hamper, she shimmied into the dress and checked her reflection. Perfect. A quick sweep of her hair into a clip and she hurried to the kitchen to check the meatloaf. As Abby rounded the corner, the scent of bacon wafted in the air, making her mouth water. A quick stir of the spring veggies before carrying the wineglasses to the table left only one thing to do—light the candles.
As she lit the match, Abby checked the clock on her new microwave. Six fifty-nine. Now all she had to do was wait for her man.
Guilt had been burning Justin’s gut all day. Yesterday he’d justified avoiding Abby’s questions by convincing himself that his past had nothing to do with their future. But if he wanted her to trust him, he had to trust her. And that meant talking about his last weeks in Chicago.
She’d worked with him for a few hours that mo
rning but had to hurry home before eleven to meet the appliance folks. Her excitement over cooking him dinner created a disturbing buzz in his chest. All those years ago he’d dreamed of making Abby his. Now that he was wrapped around her finger, anxiety mixed with gratitude. Justin would never know how he’d gotten so lucky, while at the same time, he could hardly breathe for fear of losing her.
The nights he spent at the firehouse were empty and cold without her tucked in beside him. And sometimes his favorite time of day was when he woke with her leg tossed over his, her hair tickling his chin. Justin wanted to start every day for the rest of his life the same way. Which was why tonight would be about coming clean and hoping she wouldn’t think less of him when the story was out.
Abby had fallen in love with the small white roses they’d chosen for the square, so he’d taken several home and arranged them into a delicate bouquet, wrapped in a jade-green ribbon that matched her eyes. He’d quickly learned that landscaping skills did not equate to those of a florist, but he’d done his best and knew she’d appreciate the thought more than the artistry, or lack thereof.
As he approached the Infiniti at six forty-five, Justin fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors, but before he could climb in, the phone in his back pocket went off at the same time an alarm howled down the street.
“Dammit,” he said, checking the message.
Three-alarm blaze. Tile factory in Gallatin. All hands on deck.
Of all freaking nights. Before he could text Abby a heads-up, Frankie pulled up alongside him in a jacked-up Dodge Ram.
“Get in,” he yelled over the siren.
Running on instinct, Justin left the flowers on the car and slid the phone into his back pocket to climb into the truck. Not until they reached the firehouse did he realize the phone wasn’t where he’d put it.
Controlled chaos swarmed around him as the full team suited up, jumping onto the lead engine one after another.
“What are you doing?” yelled the chief as Justin retraced his path in from the parking lot.
“I can’t find my phone.”
“Forget the damn phone. We’ve gotta go!”
Jacket half on and helmet under his arm, Justin leapt onto the truck seconds before it left the station, cursing the fates who’d just royally screwed up his night.
The candles were still lit, but shorter. At seven fifteen, Abby had moved from the table to the couch. At seven thirty, she blew out the candles before checking her cell phone for the eighth time. She held off sending a text until seven forty, and after ten minutes without a response, she tried calling. When Justin didn’t answer, she left a concern-filled voice mail.
Something must have happened. He would never stand her up like this. She paced from the kitchen to the living room, imagining the worst. Going to the front door, she peered through the glass, hoping to see headlights pull into the drive. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
As she scanned the road left and right, her phone trilled in her hand. But the message came from Haleigh, not Justin.
Turn on the TV Ch. 4.
Abby followed the order without question and found a burning building filling her screen. The scroll across the bottom said a large fire had engulfed a tile factory in White House, and all local fire stations had teamed up to fight the blaze. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she spotted the engine from Firehouse Seven. Four bodies surrounded it, but she couldn’t make out their identities.
A reporter appeared, orange flames flaring from the roof of the building in the background.
“As you can see behind me, after an hour with several departments on the scene, they’ve not been able to contain, let alone subdue, the flames. We’ve heard speculation that an electrical short could have started the fire but have not been able to confirm that.”
Abby watched in horror as shadowed figures ran in and out of the building, any one of whom could be Justin. Her gut tightened and her lungs labored as if she were the one breathing through a mask.
“Residents who live nearby say they smelled smoke shortly before an explosion went off in the back part of the building. It’s unknown yet if anyone was in the building at the ti—”
Before the reporter could finish her statement, the roof of the factory lifted up, and then dropped in a burning mass of metal and debris. The woman in front of the camera covered her head and leapt out of the frame, leaving a clear view of the chaos behind her. Abby leaned over the coffee table as she tried to find Justin in the scurry of figures running into danger.
But the scene disappeared as the news station cut back to the studio.
“This is clearly a dangerous situation and we’ll bring you updates as we get them. More after this.”
Jelly doughnuts danced across her flat screen, jarring Abby backward. What the hell? Didn’t they know she needed that camera back on? Needed to know if Justin was okay? If he was in there, could he get out? He could be trapped, or worse . . .
Abby bolted to her feet. This was Kyle all over again. The worry. The fear. Is he alive or dead? Is he hurt and waiting for help? Only Kyle had been halfway around the world while Justin could be dying one county over, and she still felt completely helpless. Grabbing her purse, she raced toward the garage. She knew where that factory was. She had to go find him.
Only before she slipped the key into the ignition, her nurse’s training kicked in. The last thing anyone needed was a crazy woman in a skimpy dress running around a burning building, trying to make sure one man was okay. Not that she didn’t care about all the brave souls fighting that fire, but dammit, she needed to find Justin and see that he was whole and breathing.
White-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, one thought played over and over in her mind. She couldn’t do this again. Abby wouldn’t survive losing another man because he insisted on running into danger.
She dropped her purse and keys on the counter as she reentered and shut off the oven on her way through the kitchen to once again curl up on the couch. Annoyed by the ridiculous jingle, she muted the TV but continued to stare, afraid to take her eyes off the screen lest the news went immediately back to the scene. Three commercials later the news coverage finally continued, and Abby turned up the volume.
“Back to the Gallatin factory fire now,” said the anchor behind the desk. “We’ve received word that several firefighters were injured in the roof collapse witnessed earlier and are being taken to Middle Tennessee Regional Hospital. Their names have not been released, nor do we know the extent of their injuries.”
By the time the anchor rolled into the next story, Abby was already in the car.
Chapter 19
Fifty yards, give or take. That’s how far the blast had thrown him. Justin’s entire body ached, but a thorough check by the EMTs had revealed no broken bones. They’d bandaged the cut on his head, which hurt like hell, and after a pissing match, which he lost, Justin found himself inside an ambulance on his way to have his head examined.
The throbbing in his temples intensified when he moved, so he spent the ride trying his damnedest to hold still. Not easy in a speeding hospital on wheels.
Abby must be furious by now, he thought. Or worried sick. Thanks to the modern technology of having every damn contact at your fingertips, Justin didn’t actually know her number. On the way to the fire he’d tried closing his eyes and envisioning the digits on his screen but could only remember the last three, and even then he couldn’t be certain they were correct.
“Where are we headed?” he asked the medic with him.
“MTR,” the stranger replied. Units from several counties had responded to the factory blaze, and Justin had no idea where this particular crew hailed from but was relieved to know they were taking him home.
Remembering another call he should make, Justin said, “Do you have a cell phone I can use?”
Without hesitating, the medic pulled a phone from his pocket. “No problem, man. Make all the calls you need. This mess was all over the news, so
no telling what your loved ones have seen.”
“Shit,” he muttered, dialing his parents’ home number. His mother picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?” she said, anxiety evident in her tone.
“Mom, it’s me,” Justin said, holding in a wince as the truck swerved beneath him. “I wanted to let you know that I’m okay.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” she exhaled before her voice grew fainter as she said, “Honey, Justin’s on the phone and he’s okay.” Coming back to him, she asked, “Where are you, baby?”
This was the hard part. He had to be honest, but he didn’t want her to freak out, either.
“They’re taking me to MTR for a routine check. I bumped my head, but I’m fine. Really.”
“Ken, get the keys,” she murmured. “We’ll meet you there, honey. Are you sure it’s just a bump? You don’t mess around with a head wound, now. Do you want me to bring you anything?”
Too exhausted to keep up with the rapid-fire questions, Justin mumbled, “Nothing to worry about.”
In the background, he heard his father say, “Stop asking the poor boy questions and let’s go.”
“Hold on, Justin. We’re on our way.”
He nodded as if they could see him, and his head swayed on his shoulders as the phone dropped into his lap.
“No sleeping, buddy,” the EMT said, bracing Justin’s face in his hands. After a quick check of his patient’s pupils, he yelled to the driver, “Pick it up, Billy. This one is more serious than we thought.”
“I’m fine,” Justin argued, forcing his lids open. “Just a bump.”
“If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard that,” the man said, though the words sounded distant in Justin’s ears.
The ambulance jerked left, and Justin lost consciousness.
“Come on, Dottie. I need to know who’s come in.”
The ER nurse shook her head. “Hon, you know I can’t tell you that.”
Determined, Abby rose onto her tiptoes to lean over the counter. “Then let me give you one name. Just nod if he’s here. Please?”