by Cheri Allan
Grams and June glared at Claire—who just rolled her eyes. “Fine. I had a couple. If she didn’t take so long to get going, I wouldn’t have been standing there nibbling. I could have blood sugar issues, you know. Maybe I needed to eat them.”
“Grams, if you want these steps laid—” Carter began, but Grams held up a hand in his face and wagged a finger at Claire as if directing traffic. “The Lord’s watching you, Claire Walker. And, everyone knows you’re healthy as a horse.”
“The Almighty’s got better things to do than strike me down for eating a few cherries,” Claire grumbled.
Carter made his escape while he had the chance. He’d snitch a pastry later.
He pushed the wheelbarrow to the breezeway entry, selected a stone, mixed the mortar he’d left to slake in the wheelbarrow and contemplated the job at hand. Grams’ shadow appeared in the doorway above him.
“What makes her not your type?” she demanded as if the conversation wasn’t over.
Carter let out a long-suffering sigh. No sense pretending he didn’t know who she was talking about. “So, first you guys want me to like her, then you want me to stay away from her and now you want me to like her again? Make up my mind.”
“I want to know why you won’t consider her.”
“I’m taking her to our class reunion. Clearly I’ve considered her.”
“You know what I mean. I mean seriously consider.”
Carter raised a dark brow and shook his head. “Seriously consider? She’s in town for what? Two weeks? What’s to seriously consider? Besides, she’s a Vice President or something now. A big shot. Like I said, she’s not my type.” He got up to grab another stone, but his grandmother’s hand stopped him.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re a hard worker, Carter. You’ll be taking over your uncle’s business soon. Don’t you dare think you’re not good enough for the Elizabeth Beacons of this world. When are you going to give yourself the credit you deserve?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. He knew they’d be filled with love and compassion. It was the fierce mama-bear look she’d always given him when she thought he wasn’t living up to his potential. And it made him feel eight years old again.
“What do I deserve, Grams? You know I don’t do well with the straight and narrow. Never have. Heck, Liz Beacon is the straight and narrow. This is a pointless conversation. ”
“Maybe you’ve misjudged her. How come you quit the fire department?” The sudden change in topic threw him off balance, which was probably intentional. Carter closed his eyes. He’d been a volunteer firefighter ever since dropping out of college.
Until last week, that is.
“It took too much time.”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, although her expression told him she didn’t buy it. “Well, maybe it’ll fit your schedule again in the future.”
“Maybe.” He scraped the mortar in the wheelbarrow.
“Carter.”
“Grams, some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“Are we talking about Liz or the department?”
“I don’t know. Both.”
“Then why are you taking her to the reunion?”
Carter shook his head in frustration wishing he were done so he could leave. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. It’s getting old. Doesn’t it feel like it’s getting old to you? I think it’s getting old…”
“Fine! Take her. But remember, she’s here to help her parents. She’s not here to have her heart broken because you can’t move beyond—”
“I’m not breaking any hearts, Grams—sheesh! —I’m putting in a patio! I promise not to do anything Liz doesn’t want me to, okay?” Carter bent down to test the sizing of the stone he’d selected and set it aside.
“Don’t lift like that! Use your knees or you’ll end up like your uncle!”
He sat back on his heels with no small amount of exasperation. “Don’t you have a game to get to?”
“In a minute,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Lydia needed a bathroom break. For never having had children, that woman is amazingly poor at holding her fluids.” She stood watch like a garden gnome in a calico apron as he laid the paving stone in its mortar bed with a few hard raps of the trowel’s handle.
“So, I followed up on the fountain project. The specs will be out this week. It’s a short timeline, though, because they want it finished by Founders’ Day, so keep an eye out for it.”
Carter slopped a trowel full of mortar down for the next stone with more force than he’d intended. My God, the woman was like a terrier with a bone. Or a calico-printed battering ram. “Follow up on the fountain project, consider Liz, stay away from Liz, don’t break anyone’s heart and bend with the knees. Did I miss anything?”
“Don’t be snarky,” Grams sniffed, sitting down on the bench beside him despite the fact that he’d heard the downstairs toilet flush like two minutes ago. “And, yes, I know what that means. I’m just trying to be helpful. We all saw your last girlfriend. She had so many tattoos I wasn’t sure if she was a person or a billboard.”
“Marlena was colorful, I’ll grant you that,” Carter murmured. “But, she was also—”
“I don’t want to know!” Grams held up a palm in alarm. “But I do want to see you happy. Oh, honey, you’re not happy dating the women you’ve been dating. A grandmother can tell.”
“Is that so? I feel happy…”
“Well, you’re not. Those women are far too superficial for you.”
“Maybe I’m attracted to superficial.”
“No, you’re not. You only choose superficial because it seems safe, but these women don’t see the real you. And they won’t make you happy.”
An image of flexible, colorful Marlena flashed in his mind’s eye. “Actually—”
“You know,” Grams cut in, clearly not in listening mode, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. You’re exactly like that Brian on Happily Ever After!” Carter choked on his surprise at being compared to the current bachelor on the matchmaking show. “Don’t you agree, girls?”
Unanimous sounds of agreement floated in from the next room as Carter dropped a glob of mortar on his boot. Good grief. He should have known they were all listening. “The stamp collector? Gee, thanks. The man was stupid enough to get rid of a chef and a masseuse.”
“He was a respected antiquities dealer, but that’s beside the point. Don’t you see? He was originally attracted to Amber and that Ellen girl, you know the ones with the big—? Anyway, but then that Julie Anne snuck under his radar and made him see himself differently. See?”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t see at all.
“What you need is an under-the-radar girl!” Grams announced.
“So I can see myself differently?”
“Exactly.”
“And who, pray tell, is radar girl?”
Grams wiggled her eyebrows.
“Liz Beacon? You think Liz is Radar Girl?” he whispered in disbelief.
“Under-the-radar girl,” she whispered back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
____________________
“WHAT DO YOU THINK you’re doing?”
Liz swiped at the sweat beading on her brow from the unusually warm spring sun and thanked the Fates the black flies had yet to make an appearance. She turned to her sister. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m tearing out the old deck.”
“You should be wearing a mask. Old pressure-treated lumber is full of arsenic.”
“It’s not asbestos, Trish. Arsenic leaches into the soil; it doesn’t float in the air. Besides, there’s not much left of it. I’m not even sure it was pressure-treated. Oh, yuck!” Liz jumped back from a rotten board as a handful of black ants scurried away.
“Are those carpenter ants? You’d better have the house sprayed while you’re here. Just last week I saw a show where this guy’s house was eaten right out from under him by termites. Literally, his La-Z-Boy fell right
through to the basement with him in it.”
“Termites don’t live this far north.” Liz kicked the board aside with the others and grabbed her hammer and crowbar. It was Thursday morning. She’d been hard at work for two days, cleaning, scraping, weeding and raking and had no intention of adding a single item to her ‘to do’ list. “Once I get rid of this rotten wood,” she huffed, “the ants will leave.”
“I know a good exterminator.”
“Fine. Leave the number on the counter.”
“By the way,” Trish popped the baby over her shoulder and began patting her energetically. “I think I can convince Dad to gut the kitchen now that you’ve torched it. Just say the word. He’s still pretty loopy on painkillers. He’d agree to anything.”
“Mom and Dad can’t afford a remodel. And I don’t have time for one. I’ll just get some paint, cover it up, and get it on the market.”
Trish sat at the picnic table and stared back at the house. “I don’t know how you can be so detached about this,” she accused. “This is our childhood home they’re selling out from under us.”
“Selling out from—? What are you talking about? You couldn’t wait to move out!”
“And you hung around any longer than you had to?”
“That was different. I had plans for my life.”
“And I didn’t?”
Liz closed her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” Trish said, tucking the baby back under her shirt.
Liz flumped onto the bench next to Trish and reached for her bottled water. “I didn’t hate living here,” she said. “I actually like the house. It always seemed so Waltons, you know? I just…” She sighed and took a sip of water, looking out over the back fields. “I knew I wanted more out of life. The ways things had become, everything going on with John… I was afraid if I stayed in Sugar Falls I’d end up unhappy like everyone else. I didn’t hate it here, I just couldn’t wait to move on, you know?”
Trish harrumphed. “Who could? I got so sick of Dad’s disappointed looks and Mom’s making excuses, I took my first ticket out of here. Getting knocked up by Russ was easier than getting into college, anyway. Or so I thought.” Trish pulled her shirt down again as baby Clara flapped it around in her fist.
“You’re not unhappy, are you?” Liz asked.
“No. I got lucky. I may make Russ get snipped after this one, but I’m not unhappy. Not like some people.” Trish gave Liz a look.
“I’m not unhappy!”
“Sure. You’re single, attractive and rake in more dough than you know what to do with, and yet you live with an ugly cat in an apartment you hate. Why? I’ll tell you why. You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little Walton-esque, white picket-fenced house.”
“I am not.”
“Why are you here, then? Why are you not off using your vacation time like a normal single person—traveling to hot, sandy islands where the men don’t remember how fat you used to be?”
“Okay. You know what?” Liz said, standing up. “I’m getting back to work. And for the record, I was only a little plump.”
Trish grabbed her elbow and yanked her back down. “You know I’m just kidding. It’s the postpartum hormones talking. They make me bitchy. I’m just jealous because you don’t have any baby fat to work off. I ate like a horse with this one, and I’ll be lucky to get the weight off by the time she graduates high school. I’m just saying, ripping out rotten decks on your vacation doesn’t seem right. Even for you.”
“Maybe I wanted to come home. My tenth reunion is next week, you know.”
“Ugh. Reunions are hell. Everyone secretly hates them.”
“It might be fun. Besides, I’ve committed to go.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain guy whose initials are carved into the inside doorframe of your closet, would it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know, the C.M. carved above E.B. with a plus sign between them?”
“You’re imagining things. Postpartum hormones can do that to a person.”
Trish nodded sympathetically and pushed off the picnic table as if still pregnant, the baby asleep across her chest. “Right. Well, I’ve gotta go. Preschool lets out in ten minutes. Call me?”
“Sure.”
Liz watched her sister drive away then scurried to find a piece of sandpaper before the house revealed any more embarrassing secrets. Who ever said coming home made you feel good?
“GRANT!” LIZ PICKED UP the call on her cell phone as she pulled sandwich makings from the fridge. The deck demolition was harder work than she’d expected, and she was starved. “Hi! I was just making myself some dinner.”
“It’s only four-thirty.”
“I skipped lunch.”
“You know that’s bad for your blood sugar levels.” Liz was silent as she grabbed a bottle of Russian Dressing. To hell with calories, she’d worked hard all day. “Listen,” he said, “I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.”
“Talk? Is something wrong? I sent the revised timeline you asked me to work up hours ago.” She kicked the fridge door shut and tucked the phone under her chin so she could wash her hands.
“No. Things are good...” Grant paused, and Liz frowned. She got the sense this call wasn’t his usual nightly check-in. For one thing, it was about four hours early.
“Listen,” he said again. “Ethan asked me to join him tonight for this... function. It’s a business thing.”
“He didn’t mention anything in his e-mail earlier. Are you meeting a client?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Uh?
“Who? Do you need help preparing something?”
“No. No. I’m all set.” He paused again, and Liz wiped her hands dry, waiting for him to continue. She folded the towel. Grant exhaled. “I wanted you to know... I’ve been thinking. About us.”
“Us?”
“About how out of sync we’ve been lately. Let’s face it. We’ve been so wrapped up in this merger the last few months, we’ve hardly had time for us. You’ve been distracted… irritable—”
“Irritable? I haven’t—!”
“I’m not pointing fingers, Liz, and I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m only saying… I know we’ve been talking about taking things to the next level. But, I think it’s good you’re home and… away for a bit. It’ll give you a chance to see things from a fresh perspective. It’ll give you some space. Some breathing room.”
“I don’t need…”
“It’ll give us both some space.”
Liz caught her breath. She swallowed. “You need space?”
“I’m only saying I think a little siesta will do us both some good. Then, when you come back—”
“What do you mean ‘siesta’?” she asked.
“Don’t be difficult, Liz. I’m trying to be understanding here. I’m trying to be patient. But, it’s clear you’re having trouble commit—”
“Trouble committing?” She interrupted. “But…”
“I don’t want to get into this over the phone. It’ll get us nowhere. Look, I’m sorry. I am. But, I’ve got to go. I’ve got that—thing, and I’ve got to get ready. I just wanted you to know I’ll be gone for a couple, few days, okay? I’ll call you early next week.”
“Next week? Why—?”
“Liz,” he sighed, “I’ve got to go. Enjoy the weekend, all right? All right?”
“Sure. I— You, too.”
Liz pressed end and set her phone on the counter.
A siesta? Did he mean he wanted to take a break? And what did he mean she was having trouble committing? She wasn’t having trouble committing! She was ready to commit! Had been ready to commit.
Unless it was Grant who needed the siesta.
Liz swallowed again and looked out the slider at where the deck used to be. Was he trying to tell her he was tired of waiting? But, she
wasn’t the one holding things up. He’d had bronchitis, and then they were busy with the merger. And, that night at his apartment… he couldn’t blame her for that!
Liz frowned at the deli meat. True, she hadn’t relented as Grant had pressed—ever more frequently—to consummate their relationship, but she wasn’t the one reluctant to bring their romance into the open. In the nearly five months they’d been dating, not once had he dared ask her out even to the corner deli in case they were seen. As if Ames & Reed had spies lurking around every street corner ready to nab randy employees.
A siesta? Liz peeled a slice of swiss cheese from the package. It didn’t sound like a restorative break. It sounded more like a stalemate in a buy-out negotiation, each side needing a leap of faith from the other before they would proceed.
You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little white picket-fenced house, Trish had accused.
Liz shook her head as she laid the cheese on the bread, feeling like all her plans were like so many sheets of paper caught in a sudden gust of wind. Why was it up to her to stop everything from flying to pieces? Why was it up to her to think and plan and organize and commit? And what was Grant doing all weekend that he couldn’t pick up a three-ounce cell phone and call until next week?
She didn’t want a break or a siesta or whatever the hell he’d called it.
She didn’t want time to think.
Why was it always her job to be the one who planned ahead? Followed through? Took responsibility?
Liz shook her head and slapped roast beef onto the cheese, even though it was entirely the wrong order in which to make a sandwich.
Whatever.
Trish had it wrong.
Liz wasn’t waiting for Prince Charming to carry her away. She was just waiting to be carried away. Period.
There was a world of difference—and a pair of laughing, sexy green eyes—between the two.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
____________________
Twelve years earlier…