by Glynna Kaye
She watched him weave his way back to the entrance. T-shirt tight across his broad-shouldered back. A muscled arm reaching out for a passing handshake. A strong hand securing his straw hat on his head.
Then he disappeared out the door.
And out of her life.
He’d been gut-punched in a fistfight before, but it didn’t hold a candle to what he’d gone through yesterday. Was still going through. He had no doubt, from the look on Sandi’s face when he sat down with her at Kit’s, that she was dismayed by that photo in the paper. Of being seen with him, cuddled in his arms for the whole town to gawk at.
He shut and fastened the gate on a dozen calves he’d unloaded into the corral, then strode toward his SUV. Didn’t fancy getting caught in the approaching afternoon monsoon.
Sandi’s reaction hadn’t come as any surprise. And to be honest, why shouldn’t she be concerned about it? About a splotch on a previously spotless reputation she’d fought long and hard to maintain. About the dirty assumptions people might make about the two of them together.
Yes, he was New Bryce now. He’d changed significantly in the past few years, but few here knew it. Wasn’t like he wore a sign around his neck. He hadn’t been back long enough for word to get around. Except for escorting his grandma to church, he hadn’t exactly been vocal about it. Churchgoing didn’t prove any thing to most hereabouts anyway. When he was a teen everybody knew Old Man Addison had a lady love on the side, but he never missed a Sunday service. So nobody would pay his own Sunday appearances much mind, either.
Sure, maybe some noticed he no longer camped down at the Timbertop Bar as he used to when on leave and Grandma had gone to bed. Didn’t hang out at a neighboring town honky-tonk on Saturday nights, making sure the local gals had a good time.
He kicked at a rock. Sent it sailing.
Grandma. If he’d have been home, this never would have happened to her. She’d wakened from a nap to find the apartment filling with smoke from an outlet in the bathroom. The new detector he’d installed last winter, recently tested, had apparently malfunctioned. She’d panicked, headed for the inside staircase. Slipped. Tumbled.
He’d never forget finding her near the bottom of the stairs.
Her arm flung out as if to break her fall, her body twisted in an unnatural position. All because he’d let himself get delayed with wooing Sandi. Not taking care of business.
Grandma didn’t break her neck, though. Relatively minor injuries. That’s what counted. He jerked the SUV’s door open.
Some grandson he’d turned out to be.
Climbing into his vehicle, he tossed his hat and gloves onto the seat beside him. Then stared out the window to watch the pastured horses tearing at the fodder along the fence line, seemingly oblivious of the rumbling thunder. They’d seek shelter under the lean-to if so inclined. Then his gaze shifted to the hay-storage building, where only a few days ago it looked as if God was opening doors.
Doors to a future with Sandi.
He should have known better. LeAnne had done her dirty work well.
When he’d offered Sandi a way out, asked if she wanted to put some distance between them for a while, she didn’t voice any objections. Didn’t ask him why. Just kind of shrugged. Said “whatever.” Basically jumped on it like a cat on a cricket while feigning indifference.
Lightning flashed as he rammed the key into the ignition. Started the vehicle. Put it in gear. He might be dense at times, but he could see the handwriting on the wall. Looked as if New Bryce needed lessons on hearing the voice of God when it came to his love life.
“When were you going to get around to telling me, Bryce?” Sandi planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips, as he pounded the For Sale by Owner sign in the rocked area between the sidewalk and the street.
How dare he not even warn her?
“Figured I’d tell you next time I saw you.”
“And when would that be?” He’d avoided her since that day at Kit’s when he suggested they put some distance between them until hoopla from the photo died down. It hadn’t. Almost every day for the remainder of the week she’d been teased and taunted about “that Harding fellow,” sometimes even by people she hardly knew.
She could only hope he’d been similarly tortured. Would serve him right for not even calling her.
“I thought you planned to remodel in the spring. So we had plenty of time to find another location. But you’re selling it now? Not remodeling?”
“The lease is up the last day of July. You haven’t signed the new one.” Bryce bumped his hat up on his forehead and waved toward the museum. “I don’t want Grandma in that old place. Faulty wiring. Ancient plumbing. Had an inspector in, so I got an eye-opener. If I can get enough for it, get that firefighter job soon, I’ll find us a nice modern ranch house. No way am I going to risk putting her back in this place. Don’t want anyone else in there, either. So the museum’s closed. I’ll refund your money for the remaining weeks of the lease.”
“Closed? You can’t do that.”
“Watch me. I already changed the locks.”
She bent to tug at the sign, but it didn’t budge. “Pull that thing out. You at least owe me a little time. Time to see if the historical society can pull together some backers. Purchase it outright.”
“Sandi, the society can barely pay the rent. You told me that yourself. Where would they dig up enough money to buy it? I can’t carry a loan. I need payment in full.”
“I’ll get it. Maybe that Utah donor will loan us the money, with interest, of course. And maybe we can qualify for a grant. You know, for an historic home. So we can fix it up.”
“How long will it take you to find all that out?”
“I don’t know about the grant. But I’ll call the law firm today. Maybe I can get an answer within a week. Maybe two.”
He folded his arms, a frown forming. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, Bryce. It’s the least you can do. You owe me.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because if it wasn’t for you, your grandma would have moved to a ground-floor apartment after her first fall. Would have kept renting this place to us. We’d have had enough money set aside so I could push through a veterans exhibit. An exhibit that would honor my husband, among others.”
He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “You’re not going to like this, but it seems to me you’ve put this place before everything else in your life. Before God.”
She gasped. How dare he?
“When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours, Sandi, that getting some exhibit named after Keith isn’t going to bring him back.”
That’s what he thought she was doing? Trying to resurrect Keith?
She stepped up to him, lifted her chin. “I’m appalled to hear that come out of your mouth, Sergeant Harding. You may not have wanted your best friend to marry me, but I never expected you to have any objections to my wanting to honor him.”
How could she ever have let herself fall for a man like Bryce? Obstinate. Hard-hearted. Just like LeAnne warned.
Glaring at her, he reached down and jerked the sign out of the ground with ease. Tossed it at her feet.
“Okay. There you go. I’m giving you two weeks. That’s it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
He should have known it would be only a matter of time before she showed her true colors. Revealed the same bossy, controlling nature he’d suspected when she first latched on to Keith. Standing right on his own family’s property a few days ago, she’d lined him out. Said he owed her.
He’d said a quick prayer. Gotten his temper under control. Agreed to give her two weeks before putting the place on the market. But no way would the historical society come up with the amount of money he was asking. He needed every dime and then some to swing a new place. He’d temporarily rented a one-bedroom, ground-floor apartment for himself and Grandma. Borrowed a cot so he could sleep in the living room. While smoke hadn’t d
one significant damage downstairs, a filthy coating bonded to everything upstairs. And the whole house reeked.
Two weeks. He’d given Sandi two weeks, though little good it would do.
Yeah, he’d been harsh with her. Accusing her of venerating the museum. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? Besides, he’d had it with her telling him what to do and how to do it. So what was he doing at two o’clock in the morning, glaring down at yellowed papers scattered across the apartment’s kitchen table? Peering at the glowing computer screen teeming with his notes?
The past two nights he’d immersed himself in a crash course on Canyon Springs’s history. Gathering names. Dates. Making connections between the earliest settlers from the 1920s—almost a hundred years ago—to their descendents still living in the community. Tracking down mailing addresses, emails and phone numbers on the web for those more far-flung.
Whether or not the effort would be a wasted one was anybody’s guess. But now he had what he needed to get started.
Not surprising, he hadn’t seen Sandi since the day he’d tossed the For Sale sign at her dainty little feet. Didn’t expect to see her anytime soon, either. She hadn’t been happy with him. She’d no doubt filled the intervening days scribbling away in that little red notebook of hers and rallying the historical society troops to find a way to buy Grandma’s house.
Even though the effort was pointless, she’d kill herself trying. Which is why he’d sacrificed sleep to paw through old papers dug out of the museum storage room and study archived copies of the local newspaper that some faithful soul had scanned for online use.
He hated to admit it, but it was interesting stuff. In his estimation, local history and family memoirs had never held a candle to national and world chronicles. But he was rethinking that. Seeing his own grandpa’s name and Grandma Mae’s crop up in his reading put a more personal spin on it. Made him wonder about where they’d come from, who their people were. His people.
He’d have to ask Gran.
But first he had a mountain of work ahead of him. Even if Sandi couldn’t let go of Keith, put pleasing her mother-in-law above her feelings for him and wanted no part in his life…well, God help him, he loved her.
“Are you sure she won’t reconsider?” Sandi tightened her grip on the cell phone. The donor’s legal representative had called back several days later to inform her that not only would his client not be interested in providing a loan to the historical society, but there would be no further donations forthcoming. The museum, it had been determined after more careful investigation, was a poor investment.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bradshaw,” the attorney concluded, “but I wish you and your historical society the best.”
She shut off the phone and dropped down on the trailer’s sofa, the last of her energy consumed. That was it. Her last hope. The museum as they knew it was no more.
“Not good news, I take it?” LeAnne asked from where she sat at the kitchen table. She’d dropped by to bring Gina a new book.
“No.”
“So that Harding man is actually selling the museum right out from under you?” She tapped on the rim of her iced tea glass with a fingernail. “Like a man who claims to care for you—as you seemed to think he did a few weeks ago—would do something like that?”
“He’s looking out for his grandma.”
LeAnne sighed. “I think you’re seeing him in a much too forgiving light.”
“It’s not his fault he has to sell the property or that I’m incapable of raising sufficient funds to buy it.”
She’d tried. Really tried.
“You’re still seeing him?” LeAnne’s voice remained carefully neutral, no doubt not wanting to get into another on-edge conversation such as the one they’d found themselves in after she’d witnessed the lakeside kiss.
Sandi toyed with the trim on a throw pillow. “No. I’m not.”
“Then let’s put that episode behind us, shall we? Consider our selves fortunate you didn’t let yourself be taken in by him.”
What could she say to that? She had been “taken in,” her heart lured in by the handsome fisherman hook, line and sinker.
“We still have several weeks,” LeAnne hurried on, her tone bright, “before you return to the classroom. Let’s make the most of them. Make plans. You, me and Gina.”
Sandi clutched the pillow to her chest, measuring her words carefully. “You know, LeAnne, you’ve been amazingly generous with your personal time, spending so much of it on Gina and me. I imagine you might enjoy a little more for yourself now.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled warmly. “I know you both need guidance, support, a little company in Keith’s absence. That’s what I’m here for.”
“And we love you for it.” Tracing her finger along the pillow’s patterned fabric, Sandi returned her mother-in-law’s smile. “But we’re actually doing pretty well now.”
“Takes time, doesn’t it?”
“It has. But I imagine your friends have missed you at Friday-night gatherings. That you’ve missed them.”
Please, Lord, let her not take this wrong.
LeAnne stilled, her gaze faltering. “I may be misunderstanding, but that almost sounds as if you’d rather not spend Friday nights with me.”
“It’s not that, it’s just that it’s been five years since we lost Keith. I know he’d want you—me—to move on with our lives.”
LeAnne straightened, her spine rigid. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Clinging to the past?”
Sandi’s voice gentled. “It’s what we both may be doing.”
Hadn’t Bryce made that clear? The museum won’t bring your husband back. Harsh, unkind words. But she’d unwillingly been thinking about them. Praying about them. Was he right?
“I see.” LeAnne stood. Carried her tea glass to the kitchen counter, where she remained gripping it in both hands. “I don’t remember you feeling that way before Bryce Harding entered the picture.”
“This isn’t about Bryce. It’s just that my eyes are opening to a lot of things this summer. About me.”
“Then I imagine that newspaper photo was a wake-up call.” The older woman’s tone sharpened. “You can’t hide secrets in a small town, can you?”
Sandi set the throw pillow aside. “We weren’t having an affair, LeAnne. We care for each other, that’s all.”
At least she still cared for him.
“You still harbor an interest in him, don’t you?” Her mother-in-law’s gaze darkened. Voice escalated. Thank goodness Gina was outside playing. “Nothing good can come of pursuing a relationship with that man, and you know it.”
Click. Click. Click.
Sandi gritted her teeth, but her words came quietly. Her tone teasing. “Will you please stop doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“That thing with your nails. Tapping.”
LeAnne’s face contorted and she slammed her glass into the sink, the sound of its shattering jerking Sandi to her feet.
“LeAnne—”
The woman held up a warning hand.
“You are such an ungrateful woman. So undeserving of my son. So quick to forget him and run after the same low-life man who dragged my Keith to his death. Do you have any idea what that photo did to me? You wrapped in each other’s arms like there had never even been a Keith?” She slammed her fist on the counter. “I have not one single regret that I pulled those funds.”
What was she talking about?
Bursting into tears, LeAnne covered her face with her hands. Sandi rushed to her, pulling the sobbing woman into her arms. She didn’t resist, but collapsed into Sandi’s embrace, clinging to her.
And Sandi cried, too.
Even half a decade after her husband’s death, her heart bore testimony that there could never be another Keith. She hadn’t deserved him then. Wasn’t worthy now of another chance at a happily ever after. He’d never be given a second chance to pick out a more mature, supportive, understanding wife, now would he?
“I’m so sorry, LeAnne.”
“Me, too.” She gripped Sandi’s hand. “I broke your glass. A wedding present, wasn’t it?”
Sandi nodded. They both laughed. Just a little, at the absurdity of her apology.
“Oh, Sandi, we loved him, didn’t we?”
“We did. We do.”
“I’m so sorry. About everything.” The older woman sniffled, wiped her nose with a tissue. “But when I saw that photograph in the paper, I couldn’t condone your behavior.”
Sandi stiffened as realization dawned. “You’re the anonymous donor. With the Utah attorney.”
She nodded. “But I can be persuaded to reinstate my pledge. In fact, if you keep this unfortunate episode with Bryce in your past, I’ll fund a new museum in its entirety.”
Sandi stared at her, speechless.
“You can pick out a piece of property and build it from the ground up for all I care, sweetie. Just stop mooning over that man. I know this museum means so much to you. Let me do this. Please?”
A museum. A new one. Natural stone, set back in the pines. Climate controls and well-lit display cases. No more creaky floors and leaky windows. A veterans exhibit. Surely if LeAnne donated the building, the society would have to name it in memory of Keith, wouldn’t they? Maybe the whole building.
The Keith Bradshaw Historical Museum.
LeAnne was right. There could be no future with Bryce. He’d already withdrawn emotionally even before their falling-out about the property’s sale, about her commitment to the museum. Sadly, he was a man incapable of making a lasting commitment—a man who’d tried to keep Keith from making one.
No, she and Bryce would never share a future.
But she could have the museum.
“It’s so easily done, Sandi. We can contact an architect, begin the design. Start looking for property.”
“I’m overwhelmed, LeAnne. It’s been my dream.” She could honor her daughter’s father. Make her mother-in-law proud. Make a lasting impact on the community. All she had to do was say yes and the dream was hers.