Heath's Hope (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 5)

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Turned out, he wasn’t so lucky—or maybe he was, depending on how you looked at it. Now, he was boiling over inside, something so foreign to his nature that he barely recognized himself. It was like some hidden mean streak in him had come to life and was riding him like a witch on a devil’s back.

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t have a table on the street.” Clearly, Hope was trying to put him on the defensive. She knew he was about as likely to sit on the street and make small talk with the good people of Beauford as he was to paint himself blue and turn cartwheels down Main Street naked. He wasn’t good at big talk, much less small talk.

  He wasn’t rising to her bait today or any other day. “I’m not the only one,” he said pleasantly. “The dry cleaner and the mortuary don’t have tables. I bought cupcakes.” What else do you want?

  “You’re not wearing a costume.”

  “True that.” He was doing good to be here and fooling with this crowd at all when he could have been working on the tiered, peacock-feather chandelier that Vince Gill had commissioned for Amy Grant’s Christmas gift. Making a graceful, flowing feather from glass hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally mastered it. Now, he wanted to get on with it, not celebrate Halloween. But, though it had been a hard lesson that was slow in coming, he’d learned a while back that being a team player was sometimes called for.

  “Hope!” June, who owned Eat Cake and had come to help set up the refreshments, came from behind the table and embraced Hope. She was dressed like the Queen of Hearts, probably because she made tarts. The table looked nice. He had only ordered cupcakes, but June and her apprentice, Gabriella Charbonnet (dressed like Alice in Wonderland), had brought a spider web table cloth, a galvanized tub with ice and drinks, little bowls of candy, and platters shaped like witches, pumpkins, and ghosts for the cupcakes. And orange napkins; he hadn’t thought of napkins, orange or otherwise.

  “Have a cupcake,” June said to Hope. “We have apple cider cinnamon with cream cheese frosting, maple-frosted pumpkin pecan, and devil’s food with salted caramel frosting.”

  Really? Heath had thought they’d just be plain cupcakes.

  “Aren’t they pretty?” Gabriella held up a platter. He hadn’t asked for decorations, hadn’t thought of that either, but on top of each one they’d drawn a likeness of Hope’s jack-o’-lantern with some kind of see-through gel stuff so it looked like stained glass.

  “Nice.” Heath nodded.

  “We thought since you hang that jack-o’-lantern in your window every year, this would be fun. Here, Hope. Try the apple cider cinnamon.” She handed Hope a cupcake.

  Hope cupped it in her hand and studied it for a good long time. Then she looked up and made him meet her eyes. Damn it all to hell. Looking into people’s eyes wasn’t his favorite thing, but apparently she still had the power to make him do it. “You hang it every year?”

  He shrugged. “It’s easy.” He couldn’t stand the tenderness in her face. “Tell the truth, I’m tired of it, though.”

  “But it’s an icon,” Gabriella said. “Everyone loves it.”

  “Yeah?” He picked up a piece of candy corn from one of the bowls. “Gabi, can you hide this in one of the cupcakes? Without messing it up?”

  Gabriella looked puzzled. “I suppose. But why?”

  “You’ll see. Lawrence, come here a second,” he called to the kid who worked for him part time.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “Make a sign that says whoever gets a cupcake tonight with a piece of candy hidden inside wins the jack-o’-lantern sun catcher. Hang it in the window beside the pumpkin.”

  “Sure thing.”

  That would cause even more people to tromp through Spectrum, but the look on Hope’s face made it worth it.

  “You’re going to just give it away?” she said.

  “It’s not important,” he said. “It never was.” The piece was signed, but so what if whoever won it sold it on eBay for an obscene amount of money?

  Heath and Hope looked at looked at each other long and steady.

  “Well!” June said. “I need to get back to Eat Cake, but Gabi has everything under control here.” She turned to Hope. “It was good to see you, honey. I hope you’re not too upset about Neyland and Gabe’s engagement.”

  Hope gave him one last, hollow look before turning to June. “Why would I be upset? I’m happy for my cousin.”

  “Well, now. We all remember how things were with you and Gabe.”

  “Oh.” Hope laughed that warm-molasses laugh that he could have sworn he’d forgotten—and it went straight to his gut. “I hadn’t thought of that. Miss June, Gabe and I were sixteen. We dated a few months. It was a very long time ago.”

  Except nothing was a long time ago in this town, and nothing was ever forgotten.

  “Well, that’s fine. First loves are hard to get over.”

  Hard for some; not so much for others.

  Hope laughed again. “It was never that way with Gabe and me, Miss June.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Reading people was not on his list of top ten—or even top one hundred—talents, but even he could tell June didn’t believe Hope. “Heath, I’ll be back at the end of the evening to help break this down.” She gestured to the cupcake table.

  “So.” After June left, Heath moved Hope toward a more secluded spot. “I could have told her you never wanted to date Gabe in the first place, that it was Rafe you liked.” His tone was threatening and challenging, just like he’d meant for it to be.

  Heath still remembered how they’d laughed when she’d told that story. Though Hope had gone to Harpeth Hall, a girls’ private day school, rather than Beauford High School, she mainly socialized with the kids from town—including the Beauford twins. She hadn’t been able to tell them apart, and when Gabe had asked her to the Homecoming dance, she’d been excited because she’d thought it was Rafe. Since Gabe had played football for her uncle, it had never occurred to her that he’d have the guts to date her. By the time she’d figured out her mistake, she was in too deep. And for a while, Gabe kept asking, and she kept going because she couldn’t see a way out. When he gave her a silver-plated bracelet and dumped her, she’d been relieved.

  “Shut up!” Hope stage whispered. She never had learned to whisper. “You’re the only one I ever told that. You promised you’d never tell.”

  “We both made a lot of promises,” he said. “Anyway, if you’re still carrying a torch for Rafe, that ship has sailed, too. He’s seeing Abby Whitman. They came by with their kids a little while ago. Did you hear Rafe has twin girls? Abby has a little boy. They make a good-looking family.”

  Hope stood there like a statue, still clutching the cupcake. He’d forgotten how it felt when she went all cold and quiet. Maybe she was thinking about the kids they’d talked about having together.

  Finally, she spoke. “You know very well I’m not carrying a torch for Rafe Beauford. I was a kid. So go ahead and tell everyone my adolescent story. I don’t care. But, Heath, I have a question. Did you drag me in here just to be mean? I tried to tell you no, but you insisted. Do you need so much for me to feel bad?”

  Did he? Maybe.

  She looked at the cupcake and then at him. For a second, he thought she was going to smash it into his face, but, in the end, she set it on the counter and quietly glided out the door like a queen on the way to the guillotine.

  Why had he done that? If she felt bad—and he had no doubt she did—he felt worse. And that wasn’t fair.

  She was the one who’d promised to love him forever, but had taken it back when he became inconvenient. She was the one who had been so rigid that she couldn’t find it in herself to believe in him.

  And if all that hadn’t happened, he’d never have married and buried Aimee in less than a year. His mentor’s sweet daughter had had a crush on him for as long as he’d been studying with Foster Garrett. Though Heath had never encouraged her, he’d even been flattered. At twenty-one, he’d viewed Aimee as
a child, despite the fact that she was only three years younger. If she hadn’t gotten sick, she would have gotten over him and moved on.

  But she did get sick, and when Foster and Isabel had found out how little time their daughter had left, they’d come to him and begged him to just give her what she wanted and make her happy for a few months.

  And he’d thought, why the hell not? He’d lost Hope and he owed Foster everything. Why not make Aimee happy? Because, really, nothing mattered. And what Aimee wanted was to get married. So he’d stood up in a church, made promises he didn’t mean, and poured all his grief and frustration into the angel panels that had made him famous. And he’d helped a sweet girl die.

  It sounded a lot more romantic than it had been. There wasn’t much romance in holding a dishpan to catch the vomit that ineffectual chemo produced.

  In truth, tonight he felt worse than he had the day they put Aimee in the ground. And why not? He had given Aimee nothing but kindness, and tonight was the first time in his life that he could ever remember deliberately trying to hurt someone.

  He’d done a fine job of it, too.

  Cheers broke out from the other side of the shop.

  “Heath,” Lawrence called, “we’ve got a winner. They want a picture with you and the jack-o’-lantern.”

  Of course they did. Everyone had cell phones and everyone wanted a picture. Why couldn’t he have lived and practiced his art during the Renaissance, when there were no phones, no cameras, and no Hope?

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Neyland pulled up to the entrance of Beauford’s small hospital.

  “No,” Hope said. “You’ve already served your time here today. But thank you for making me come out for a while.”

  But Hope was not thankful. She should have never gone to that festival, should have never let that jack-o’-lantern draw her to Spectrum’s front window.

  Heath had looked good. Even if his eyes had looked mean, his thick, tawny hair was still carelessly pushed behind his ears. The jeans and open flannel shirt over a T-shirt could have been the same ones he’d worn in college. His tall frame had filled out, leaving him with the strong, capable body of a man.

  And right above the collar of that shirt was that soft, sweet place halfway between his ear and collarbone. She could still remember how warm it had felt when she’d rested her face there and how that spot had tasted when she’d wanted anything but rest. But those were bad decisions under the bridge.

  Always nearly impossible to read, Heath was still stingy with his smiles, and he liked to keep his eyes to himself—though she doubted if he would have had a smile for her even if he’d had a naturally open and sunny disposition.

  A man had taken over his face and chased away any traces of boyishness, and she mourned that. She’d loved that boy—but she did not like this man, even if she’d had a hand in his creation. That boy might have put away the jack-o’-lantern, maybe even broken it, but he would have never given it away for the sole purpose of hurting her. Inasmuch as he’d always been quiet and stoic to the point of solemn, Heath had always exuded kindness and a calm sprit where a person could find peaceful rest. How had he gotten so bitter? How, indeed? Something told her that was a question she shouldn’t dwell on overmuch.

  Never, ever had she known him to be deliberately cruel, like he’d been tonight. After all this time, it shouldn’t matter, but it had left her with a sore and weary heart.

  “So when do you think you’ll be going back to Charlotte?” Neyland brought her back to the present.

  The sooner the better. “I left my ticket open-ended, but I’m planning on tomorrow.”

  “That soon?” Neyland looked confused. “Aunt Polly said you were taking a leave of absence from work.”

  “No. When she called me, we didn’t know what was going to happen and she asked if I could take a leave of absence. I told her I could, if there was a need, but there isn’t. Daddy will be in the hospital until he’s transferred to rehab. When he comes home, I might need to come back and help out for a few weeks.” That sounded good, but right now, she really wanted to run to the other side of the world and never come back.

  Neyland nodded. “I misunderstood. I thought you were going to be here for at least a month and it was a done deal.” She laughed. “In fact, I told Noel you might want to move into her old apartment above Piece by Piece. We love our parents, but I think you and I are of the same mind about living with them.”

  “You’ve got that right. Though, if I do need to come and help with Daddy, I would probably need to stay with him and Mama. But I appreciate your looking out for me.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll tell Noel I was mistaken. Gabe plays Monday night this week, so I can take you to the airport tomorrow.” Gabe Beauford played pro ball for the Nashville Titans.

  “That would be great. After I talk to Mama and Daddy, I’ll book my flight and let you know the time.” Hope gave her cousin a brief hug and waved as she drove away.

  Most people hated hospitals, but Hope didn’t. She liked the order, the quiet, and the cleanliness. She supposed even tiny Beauford General had its share of chaos and trauma, but she’d never seen any of it. Here, she’d been held up to the nursery window to see her newborn cousin Todd, and gotten lots of attention when she’d had her tonsils out. Even today, though it had been stressful and exhausting, Daddy had never been in any danger.

  It was certainly a better place to be than in Heath Beckett’s presence, but that never had to happen to her again. This time tomorrow, she’d be safely back in Charlotte, and while it was unrealistic to think she could stay away from Beauford forever, she could avoid Heath.

  Not wanting to startle her mother or wake her father, Hope lightly tapped on the door before stepping inside.

  But she needn’t have worried about waking him. He was wide-awake, talking on his cell phone, barking orders from the sound of it, as her mother sat flipping through a magazine. He was a big, robust, healthy man, and the setting didn’t do much to diminish that.

  “Oh, here she is. I’ll call you back,” her father said.

  “Yes. Here she is. I hope I wasn’t gone too long.”

  “Of course not.” Polly MacKenzie put down her magazine. “You needed to get out.”

  Hope laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “How are you?”

  “Oh. So-so. The pain meds help.” He covered her hand with his. “I can’t tell you, baby, how much I appreciate you. At least I don’t have to worry about the bank while I’m being held prisoner.”

  “What?” That made no sense whatsoever. Hope had heard that, after surgery, sometimes people didn’t make sense.

  “Not prison, Mac,” Polly said. “Rehab. And you’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  “Lucky is not a word I would apply to myself right now,” Mac said. “Except that I have the most perfect daughter in the world.” He met Hope’s eyes. “I was on the phone with Greta Jo.” He named his longtime, long-suffering secretary. “She’s tidying up my desk so it will be ready for you Monday morning.”

  No. Either Daddy was delusional, or she had stepped into an alternate universe. Must be the pain meds or the aftereffects of the anesthesia. Hope looked at her mother for help.

  But Polly nodded in agreement. “We are so relieved that you agreed to take a leave of absence so you can help out.”

  Oh, no. Oh, hell. Oh, hell no! They wanted her to run the bank! She had thought helping out meant helping nurse her father. Her head pounded. Or was it her heart? Hard to tell.

  “I don’t know what I would have done,” Mac said.

  She had to get out of this. “Oh, Daddy. You have competent staff. I don’t know anything about the bank.” She sounded lame and defeated, even to herself.

  “No.” Mac shook his head. “You know banking. It’s in your blood. I do have a good staff, but they’re not family. What’s more, there’s been a MacKenzie in the big chair of Beauford Savings and Loan ev
er since the doors opened in 1940. I would have hated to leave that chair empty.”

  Things began to click into place. Mac MacKenzie was a willful man. While he wouldn’t go so far as to break his leg on purpose—especially with deer season coming up—he was not above using what he had to get what he wanted, which was Hope working at Beauford Savings and Loan.

  She’d been had. But Hope was nothing if not a realist. She’d never been one to fight a battle she wasn’t going to win.

  So she pasted on a smile. “I’m glad to do what I can.”

  “It means the world to us, darling,” Polly said.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”

  She stepped into the hall and dialed her cousin’s number. “Neyland? Could you tell Noel I’m going to need that apartment after all?”

  She might be stuck in Beauford, Tennessee, breathing the same air as Heath Beckett. She might be stuck at Beauford Savings and Loan where he probably kept his money.

  But if she had a prayer of getting out with her sanity intact at all, she had to have some privacy and some space. It wasn’t much of a victory, but some days you had to take what you could get.

  And today was turning out to be one of those days.

  Chapter Four

  Hope had been at Beauford Savings and Loan for two days, but it had taken only about two hours for her to figure out that Mac MacKenzie had created a well-oiled machine that ran itself. Oh, she had to sign this, approve that, and attend a meeting here and there, but there were no broad, sweeping decisions to make—at least not for an interim president.

  She was bored, but she’d already been through the mail, read a stack of month end reports, and approved leave for three employees. She opened her laptop and brought up Solitaire. With any luck, no one would guess what she was doing. She wasn’t much of an actress, but she’d never had to be. There was no time for Solitaire in Charlotte.