by Cindy Kirk
For now she was determined to keep her distance. She wasn’t ready to talk about their ‘maybe’ marriage yet. That’s why, when John had turned down Aunt Verna’s invitation to the soup supper this evening, she’d abandoned her plan to spend a quiet evening at home.
“Earth to Hope.”
Hope blinked and realized Chet had maneuvered them into the soup line while she’d been lost in her thoughts. The event in the church basement was to raise money for a youth mission trip. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You look especially lovely.” Actually, with his stylishly cut blond hair and all-American good looks, Chet was the lovely one. He had a face made for campaign posters.
“Thank you,” Hope said, surprised by the compliment. “I love your new shoes.”
“Ferragamos,” he said with a pleased smile, and she felt her heart warm.
Chet had been extra charming today. As if trying to make up for breaking their Saturday night date, he’d sat with her and Verna during church this morning, then asked if she’d sit with him at the soup supper this evening.
At the time, she’d told him she didn’t think she would make it. That was before she knew John was staying home. She wasn’t surprised Chet planned to attend. Such an event was prime campaigning territory.
“I’m happy you decided not to wear jeans.” His palm rested lightly against the small of her back. “It’s important for a woman to look like a lady.”
It wasn’t the first time Chet had said something like that, and she’d always let it slide. “You have something against women wearing pants?”
She could see he’d caught the slight edge to her voice and that it had surprised him. Well, his archaic attitude rubbed her wrong.
“I’m simply saying it’s important to me that you always look your best when we’re out together. If I decide to run for office, and it’s looking that way, your attire and actions will be a direct reflection on me.”
“First, if you do decide to be a candidate, you’ll be running for the state legislature, not for President of the United States.” Though she considered the whole conversation ridiculous, she kept her voice low in deference to his position in the community. “Second, I’m not your steady girlfriend or your wife.”
She didn’t get a chance to say more because Tom Coffey, Chet’s political advisor, appeared. “The photographer I brought along wants to speak with you. I think he’d like to get some shots of you mingling with the churchgoing crowd.”
Tom, a slender man with a receding hairline, shot Hope an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I have to steal him away for a while.”
Hope simply smiled. She remained in line, chatting with an older couple standing next to her. She was nearing the long, rectangular tables holding large Crock-Pots filled with soups when Amity strolled up.
“You don’t mind if I join my friend, do you?” She shot the couple in line behind Hope a blinding smile.
“Certainly not, young lady.” The portly older man appeared enchanted by Amity, who looked angelic in a surprisingly demure white cotton eyelet dress. “We’ll all reach the same place. As long as you don’t take all the chili, I’ll be happy.”
“We’ll make sure to leave plenty,” Hope assured him.
“Unless I’m unable to resist temptation.” Amity gave the man a teasing wink.
He cackled.
Amity smiled, then shifted her attention back to Hope. “Surprised to see me?”
“I am,” Hope said. “What are you doing here?”
“Verna mentioned this little shindig when I ran into her in the market this afternoon.” Amity’s smile flashed. “She sold me a ticket while I was a captive audience in the checkout lane.”
“I bet she got you to toss in a little more for the youth group’s trip to Haiti.”
“She’s a salesperson, your aunt. She’s always got her fingers in some pie.”
Hope opened her mouth, prepared to tell Amity about Aunt Verna’s Mistletoe Inn idea, when John entered the room. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved henley, he fit in with the casually attired crowd more than Chet did in his dress shirt, trousers, and Ferragamo loafers.
Amity followed the direction of Hope’s gaze and let out a low whistle. “Ooh la la. He’s a real hottie. Do you know him?”
“That’s John Burke, Verna’s foster son.” Hope fought to keep her voice casual as John’s eyes met hers and he started across the room. “I’ve mentioned him to you. He just moved back to Harmony.”
Since Amity had only recently moved to town, it wasn’t surprising she’d never met John.
When he reached them, Hope performed quick introductions, then decided to be polite. “Will you join us?”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t be intruding. Hope and I are best friends.” Amity offered him a brilliant smile. “Since you two are already friends, that means I should know you too.”
John looked amused. “Is that how it works?”
“Absolutely,” Amity said with a decisive nod. “Hope said you just moved back. But she didn’t tell me much else. Are you an accountant too?”
“Hardly.” As John began to explain his work as an artist, Hope was impressed he’d been able to support himself by doing something so unusual.
“I’d love to see your work sometime,” Amity said. “I’m a big fan of Boris Kramer’s art.”
“Really?” John appeared surprised by her knowledge. “My stuff is more along the lines of Karen Cusolito. She and I both do a lot of work with mixed media, but mine is on a much smaller scale. Her sculptures weigh tons and often need to be set by a crane. I’m not quite at that point yet.”
“What is mixed media?” Hope found herself drawn into the conversation despite her desire to keep her distance.
“Just how it sounds,” John said, appearing pleased by her interest. “An artist uses a variety of media—for example, metal and wood—on a project.”
“I’d love to see what you’re working on now,” Hope said without thinking.
He smiled at her. “I’d love to show you.”
Amity asked several more questions before John was hailed by a friend from high school and left to speak with him and his wife.
Amity’s gaze followed him for several seconds, then she turned to Hope. “You’ve been holding out on me, Chickadee.”
Hope stared after the man who might still be her husband and sighed. “You have no idea.”
The next morning, John was unpacking boxes in the downstairs “carriage area” of his new home when Hope appeared. The distressed look on her face had him rising and crossing to her in several long strides. “What’s wrong? Is it Verna?”
The older woman had appeared to be in good health at breakfast, but Hope’s expression told him something was wrong.
“No. Not Verna.” Hope shook her head but her assurance didn’t tamp down his unease. Her voice quavered and two lines of worry sat between her brows. “Something else.”
He took her hand, wanting to soothe her. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away. Whatever was troubling her had to be major.
“Tell me,” John demanded.
She glanced around the dusty work area as if searching for a place to sit.
“We’ll go upstairs.” He tugged her to the staircase. “It’ll be more comfortable and private.”
Hope’s protest seemed to die in her throat. He had the feeling it wasn’t the comfort part but the promise of privacy that convinced her.
As the stairs leading to his new apartment were narrow, John followed her up the steps. A mistake, he thought. The light, sultry scent of Hope’s perfume wafted behind her. Worse yet, he had the perfect view of her backside. Her jeans hugged her curves and accentuated her long legs.
John felt eighteen again. Though Hope remained the only woman who could make his heart beat faster simply by walking into a room, his feelings for her weren’t just physical.
She was intelligent. She was strong-will
ed and that was just the beginning. He loved every part of her. When he’d left Harmony, he’d hoped the hole in his heart would fill. It hadn’t.
He never stopped thinking of her as his wife.
Looking back, John couldn’t believe a night that had started out so positive had gone so bad. He’d never forget the look in Hope’s eyes when he’d been forced to admit he didn’t have the extra money Buddy, the “minister,” had demanded.
All of his extra cash had been spent on the special engraving inside Hope’s wedding band. A ring that had been on her finger less than five minutes before she’d tugged it off and told Buddy she’d changed her mind.
The gesture had crushed him. But that was the past. He was home and determined to capture her heart.
Hope grabbed the knob and pushed open the door. He followed her inside.
She moved to the middle of the living room and turned in a circle. “I still think this is the loveliest room. Verna gave me carte blanche in decorating it. I hope you don’t find it too girly.”
Verna hadn’t mentioned Hope’s role in the renovation. Though when the older woman had shown him the space, she’d waxed poetic about everything from the overstuffed sofa upholstered in a sunny garden pattern and plaid slipper chairs in a coordinating fabric to the crown molding topping a whimsical wallpaper pattern of vines and branches. She’d pointed out how the leaves on the Tiffany accent lamp continued the theme.
According to Verna, the rag rugs scattered on the hardwood floors coupled with several ancestral wall portraits added a homey touch and saved the room from being too perfectly coordinated.
“Lovely isn’t a word I normally like to use.” John grinned. “But it’s a nice space. I like it.”
The style of the furniture had a warm, comfortable feel. Wooden shutters had been pulled back, allowing the outside light to fill the room with a golden glow.
The scent of cinnamon hovering in the air from a basket of Verna’s scented pinecones brought calm to the atmosphere. Though the frown remained, he saw Hope’s shoulders were no longer stiff.
“May I get you something to drink?” he asked politely. “A glass of water?”
She shook her head. “I’d like to sit down.”
He gestured to the sofa. Instead of taking a seat in a nearby chair, he sat beside her.
“It’s good to see you again, Hope. It’s been too long.”
Her laugh held a nervous edge. “You were just here in May for Verna’s birthday.”
“We didn’t have much of a chance to talk.” This wasn’t surprising considering they’d both worked to keep a distance between them since he’d left Harmony.
Not this time.
“There’s something we need to discuss.” Her voice cracked when he took her hand.
Using his thumb, John rubbed slow circles in her palm. He had a good idea what she wanted to discuss. She wanted him to know that she’d moved on, that she and Chet—
“We’re still married.”
His thumb stilled. The words may have been softly spoken, but he’d heard them clearly. That didn’t mean he understood. “Did Buddy send in the paperwork after all?”
“No. He kept his word.” Hope pulled her hand from his and placed it in her lap. “I confirmed this morning with the county recorder’s office that even if the license and certificate aren’t sent in, the marriage is still legal.”
John collapsed back against the sofa. Hope was his wife? Indescribable joy rushed through him. He’d prayed for a second chance. For the opportunity to show her he could be the husband she deserved. Now, through a bureaucratic loophole and God’s providence, he’d received that chance.
“You’re probably as upset as I am,” he heard Hope say.
John tamped down his jubilation and schooled his features.
Her face was bleached white, those stunning green eyes wide with worry.
Sensing this wasn’t the time to tell her how thrilled he was, he forced a grave expression. “This is quite a surprise.”
“I’m so angry at Buddy,” she blurted out. “He assured us if he didn’t send in those papers that it was as if the wedding had never taken place. I suppose we shouldn’t have taken the word of a college guy who’d gotten his ordination online and had only performed one wedding before ours.”
Hope stopped and pressed her lips together as if realizing she was chattering. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “The bottom line is—we’re still married.”
There was a beat of silence.
He drew air slowly into his lungs. “You’re certain?”
“Positive. The person I spoke with at the county recorder’s office said if we had the license, the minister met the qualifications in Idaho—which Buddy did—and the marriage took place, it was legal, just not on record.”
John forced a nonchalant tone. “If we don’t say anything, who would know?” He had to bring up the option before he got too jazzed.
“Don’t think I didn’t consider that already.” Hope gave a humorless laugh. She didn’t appear to notice when he placed his arm on the top of the sofa. “But you know how I am about rules. I can’t simply close my eyes and pretend it didn’t happen or isn’t legal just because to do so would be more convenient.”
“You always were a stickler for following rules,” John murmured, rubbing a strand of her hair between his fingers. It was soft, like the finest silk. How long had it been since he’d touched her hair, her face, since his mouth had closed over hers?
Hope lifted her face to his.
His heart clenched at the tears swimming in the green depths.
“I’m s-sorry.”
With the tip of a finger, he gently brushed a tear that slipped down her cheek. “For what? This isn’t your fault.”
“For me not being able to pr-pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” he said softly. “If you could do that, you wouldn’t be you.”
“But it would b-be so much easier.” Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.
“It appears, my darling Hope, that you and I are married.” Tenderly he separated her hands and gazed into eyes blurred with tears. “In the sight of God and man.”
Though he kept his tone mild, it produced more tears.
John shifted and gathered her close. Hope was his wife.
His heart was a sweet, heavy mass in his chest.
As he kissed a tear on her cheek, her arms wound around his neck and he touched her lips with his.
When her fingers slid into his hair, he folded her more fully into his arms, anchoring her against his chest as his mouth covered hers in a deep kiss. She fit perfectly against him. She always had.
This was the woman who held his heart. Whether she wanted it or not, she had it for all eternity.
John had always felt connected to her. He’d never forgotten the vows they’d made and the promise given. In this moment, he saw those same sentiments in her expression.
Several hours later, Hope left John’s bed and headed downtown for an appointment she’d made after speaking with the county recorder. At Reid Mueller’s office, she received the news that her actions that morning made getting the marriage annulled impossible. The family law attorney had been adamant that even if she or John were willing to swear they were of unsound mind at the time they married, the fact that they’d slept together made divorce the only option.
She’d known what Reid would say, but she had to hear it from his own lips. She couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish, but being in John’s arms again had brought all her buried emotions to the surface. It felt as if they’d just stood in front of the minister, had just said their vows. In one minute, all her years of denying her feelings for John had been swept away.
Divorce.
Filing for an annulment, effectively saying that a marriage had never taken place, was one thing. But a divorce . . .
Every part of her being railed at the thought. Still, she wondered if it might not be better to
call it quits before they ended up hating each other. As attracted as she was to John, she needed a responsible man, one who took life—and his finances—seriously.
A sense of melancholy filled Hope. She paused at the top of the stairs leading down from the second floor of the law office on Market Street. She gripped the railing but couldn’t make herself walk back into the real world.
If only she hadn’t kissed John back . . .
What had happened in his apartment had been as much her fault as his. When his arms had closed around her in comfort, she hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t wanted to pull away. She’d wanted him to hold her, to love her.
Kissing him again had felt so natural, so right. He’d been so gentle with her, taking his time, not rushing. The experience had been worth the wait. Slipping out of his bed when he’d hopped into the shower had been hard. She’d much rather have kept him company in the steaming water.
Hope told herself she shouldn’t feel guilty over making love to John. He was her husband. But for how much longer?
The attorney had been blunt. If she wanted out of her marriage to John Burke, she would have to file for divorce.
Hope straightened her shoulders. She’d get through this challenge as she had all the other trials in her life, by putting one foot in front of the other.
She must speak with John. Her phone dinged with a text. Hope glanced down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Chet had already called her twice today. Now he’d sent her a text while she’d been speaking with the attorney. He probably thought she was playing hard to get when the truth was, she was simply busy.
Okay, so perhaps she was avoiding him. Though she and Chet’s relationship had never been exclusive, she did need to tell him about John. The trouble was, she wasn’t sure what to say.
She stepped out of the building onto the sidewalk and was horrified when her stomach growled so loudly a woman walking by turned to stare. Impulsively, Hope crossed the street to All Ground Up, a popular coffee and sandwich shop.
She’d just ordered a tuna salad to go when she saw Chet at a table by the window. By the way he and Tom were intently studying a laptop screen, it appeared to be some sort of business meeting or strategy session.