Her Heart's Promise

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Believe me, I’m not one bit sorry that our names were linked in the newspaper. The next question is, where do we go from here?”

  “We break up, of course.” She had to put an end to this for Trace Bennet’s sake and her own.

  Trace stroked his jaw with one hand, his eyes still on her. “But why? You need a boyfriend, and I could use the help of someone who knows the people of this town. Maybe make some helpful introductions to prospective clients. I don’t think we should end such a compatible match over such a little misunderstanding.” He smiled, a dimple winking at her from beside his mouth.

  Nadine felt a softening. Trace had a gentle charm about him, and she felt guilty about using this man’s name. But the thought of hoodwinking not only her grandma but also the citizens of the town she lived in made her hesitate.

  And what will Clint think?

  Nadine wished she could dismiss that thought.

  “If we went out together, you wouldn’t be lying to your grandmother,” Trace continued, sounding far too reasonable for a man who had just been hoodwinked.

  “You’re not a stalker, are you?” Nadine asked.

  “Considering how things happened, that would be a question I should be asking you.” Trace’s dimple appeared again, and Nadine had to concede.

  “Besides, dating a beautiful girl like you would hardly be a hardship.” Trace stood up, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

  “No,” squeaked Nadine. “Not really.”

  “Good. We can start off with dinner tonight at the Riverside Inn. You can fill me in on the town and its occupants.”

  Nadine nodded, feeling once again as if someone was taking control of her life. But as she looked up at Trace’s handsome face, she thought that maybe, this time, things might work out.

  “Great.” He reached out a hand, and automatically Nadine caught it. “It’s a deal, then. I’ll pick you up from your place tonight, and we’ll celebrate our first official ‘date.’” He winked at her. “Where do you live?”

  Nadine gave him her address, then he left, and she stared at the closed door, feeling bemused, overwhelmed, and oddly satisfied. Trace Bennet was a charming, fine-looking man. And the thought of spending an evening with him made her feel wanted.

  Okay, Lord, was this it? Was this the answer to my prayer? She smiled. She would find out in time.

  Chapter 6

  As Nadine poured herself some tea from a miniature silver pot, she looked across the table at Trace, studying him as he stirred his coffee.

  He glanced up at her and smiled. “And what is Nadine Laidlaw thinking of now?”

  “Actually, I’m wondering why you wanted to take me out.” She stopped, realizing how that sounded, then added, “I mean, after what we did to you.”

  “I’m lonely, I’m new in town, and I want to get to know you better.” He set his cup down, lowering his voice to a more intimate level. “I’ve been wondering about you for a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been subscribing to the paper since before I came. Scoping the place out you might say. I knew our dealership would make a move here, and I wanted to find out more about the community. What better way than the paper?”

  “You are very thorough.”

  “I try. I’ve read your articles. You are a very principled person. You’ve got strong values that come out in your writing.” He leaned closer. “I think that little mistake your friend made wasn’t just a mistake. I think this meeting was meant to be.”

  Nadine blinked, trying to absorb his words. While his declaration had been pleasant, it created a feeling of discomfort she couldn’t put a finger on.

  He smiled then, easing the intensity of the moment. “I feel it is only right we spend this evening getting to know each other better.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Why don’t we start with you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, gathering her thoughts. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Try me.”

  Nadine lifted her hands and then, with a laugh, started. “I was born here in Sweet Creek, went to school here, left and got my journalism degree, came back when my father died, and my mother became ill. Got a job at the Sweet Creek Chronicle, moved from reporter to editor, where I am now.”

  “That was a concise résumé.”

  “I’ve had a concise life.” Nadine shrugged. She took a sip of her tea as she looked past him—just in time to see Clint Fletcher get up from the table where he had been sitting. How long had he been there?

  Just then Clint looked around, catching her gaze. Disconcerted, she watched as he paused, then, to her dismay, sauntered over.

  “Hello, Nadine.” He turned to Trace, and Nadine had no choice but to introduce them.

  “Trace, this is Clint Fletcher, my boss. Fletcher, this is Trace Bennet.” She forced a smile. “Trace is starting an implement dealership in town.”

  Trace stood and held out a hand to Clint. “Pleased to meet you,” Trace said. “Would you like to join us?”

  But to Nadine’s relief, Clint shook his head. “No. I have to be on my way.” His mouth was curved in a polite smile. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

  “I’ll have to make arrangements to talk to you sometime,” Trace said, sitting down again. “You can tell me all about Sweet Creek.”

  Clint glanced at Nadine. “Nadine has spent her entire life here and can fill you in better than I can on the goings-on of the town.” He jingled the change in his pocket a moment. “I hope you two have a pleasant evening.”

  “And I hope it is to be the first date of many,” said Trace, a touch of humor in his voice.

  “The first?” Clint asked. Nadine’s gaze flew up to his, then she looked away, blushing again. Of course Clint would catch that little slip; he was a reporter after all.

  “I guess Trace doesn’t count the movie as a date,” she said.

  Clint nodded, then turned and walked away.

  “Your boss has quite a forceful presence, doesn’t he?” Trace remarked.

  “When he wants to,” she said, her tone abrupt.

  “Has he lived here long?”

  “No. He moved here when he was in grade eleven and came to live with his uncle and my old boss, Dory Strepchuk. He used to own the paper, and Clint took over from him.” Nadine took another sip of her tea, now cool, and set it down with a grimace. She didn’t want to talk about her boss. She could still feel his eyes on her, his assessing of Trace. For some reason, she didn’t want him to see her and Trace together.

  “But you seem to know him well.”

  “I should.” Nadine laughed shortly. “He dated my sister.”

  “You have sisters?”

  Nadine spun her teacup. “Two. Sabrina and Leslie. Twins. Both tall, blond, gorgeous. Which I am not.”

  “Why do you put yourself down like that?” he asked.

  Nadine shrugged, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “It’s not a put-down, merely the facts.”

  “You’re a very attractive person. You have such beautiful, deep brown eyes, and such lovely hair.” He paused as he looked her face over.

  Nadine tried not to feel uncomfortable, tried not to let herself believe what he was saying.

  He sighed a moment. “You have an earthy beauty...”

  “Wholesome.” Nadine couldn’t keep the dour note out of her voice, nor was she able to stop the faint flush that crept up her cheeks at his kind words. “You can stop now.”

  “I will. For now.” He winked at her. “So, now I know you have two sisters and a grandma. How about your parents?” he prompted.

  Nadine looked down at her tea, curving her fingers around the cup as if trying to warm it up. “My father was killed in a logging accident about six years ago. My mother died about six months ago.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “She had ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease. It was better.” She looked away, anxious to change the subject. Her mother�
�s death wasn’t news, but lately, it seemed to bring up sorrow and regrets she didn’t want to deal with; not in front of a stranger, no matter how kind he might be. “And what about your family?” she asked as a way of deflecting any more questions.

  And Trace told her about the Bennets. They still lived in the Fraser Valley and had a dairy farm. Trace had worked for an international implement dealer, and from there, had moved up. Now he was poised to start his own franchise. He had been scouting likely locations for the past year and had settled on Sweet Creek.

  “But I’ve been looking for more than just a place to build a dealership.” He winked at Nadine. “I sure didn’t expect to find such a good-looking date this quick.”

  “Let’s not talk about that one, okay?” she pleaded.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m enjoying myself.” He shook his head. “Now you have to tell me more about yourself. What about your hopes, your dreams?”

  Hopes and dreams? Had she even an opportunity in the past years to figure out what she wanted?

  “Stuck?” he prodded.

  She shook her head. “I’ve spent so much time taking care of my mother and working that I haven’t had a chance to hope and dream.” She looked back at Trace and dismissed her melancholy with a light laugh. “I guess I just want to make a difference.”

  “That’s a good goal.”

  “What about you?”

  He chuckled at her question. “Ever the reporter, aren’t you?”

  “Occupational hazard,” she said.

  He sat back and started talking. Their conversation then ranged from the town to politics, books they had read, movies they had seen.

  The rest of the evening went by far too quickly, and soon it was time to go. As he pulled up to her building, Nadine noticed one light burning in the living room of her apartment. Grandma was waiting up.

  They walked into the building and Trace stopped at the door to her apartment, stretching out their farewell.

  “Will I be able to see you next time I’m in town?” Trace picked up her hand, playing with her fingers.

  “Sure,” Nadine said, suppressing a thrill of anticipation. “Thanks for a lovely evening. I enjoyed it thoroughly.”

  The door behind them creaked open. “Nadine, are you still out there?”

  Nadine stiffened at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. “Yes, Grandma.”

  “You should come in,” Grandma stepped out into the hallway, wrapping her fleece robe around her. “It’s late.”

  Nadine glanced back at Trace, who, thankfully, hadn’t changed expression at the sight of this diminutive woman.

  “Trace, this is my Grandma Laidlaw. Grandma, this is Trace Bennet.”

  Grandma kept her hands around her waist and only nodded in acknowledgment. “So I finally get to meet you, Mr. Bennet.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Trace held out his hand to Grandma. She took it begrudgingly and shook it. “And please call me Trace.”

  “I will.” She looked him over once and then gave him a polite smile. “It’s late, Nadine, and I’m sure both you and Mr. Bennet have an early day at work tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be in shortly, Grandma,” Nadine replied in a warning tone. Grandma was talking to her like she would a teenage daughter late for curfew. This was really stepping over the line.

  Barbara was unrepentant. She glanced once more in Trace’s general direction. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her tone conveying anything but. As she left, Nadine turned to Trace.

  “Sorry about her. She takes notions. And the notion she has in her grip tonight is that she refuses to like anyone she hasn’t picked for me herself.”

  “That’s okay.” Trace slid his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders. “But I still want to see you again.” He grinned at her and straightened. For a moment, Nadine thought he would kiss her, but he only touched her cheek with one finger. “I’ll call,” he whispered. Then he left.

  Nadine watched him go, a sigh lifting her shoulders. She walked to the glass doors and watched as he drove away.

  After she’d dropped Jack and come back to Sweet Creek, she had no time to date. Since her mother’s illness she hadn’t gone on a real date until tonight.

  Nadine wrinkled her nose and laughed shortly—even this date had been manufactured.

  “Special delivery for you, Nadine.” Julie breezed into Nadine’s office two days later carrying a huge bouquet of white roses.

  Nadine reached for the flowers, surprised and pleased. “Who are they from?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. Here, this came with them.” Julie handed Nadine an envelope. She opened it and pulled out the small card, then smiled. Trace.

  She went in search of a vase, carrying the roses with her. She found a jar and was returning to her office, her nose buried in the bouquet, when she literally bumped into Clint Fletcher.

  He caught her by the elbows and steadied her, then glanced at the bouquet.

  “A secret admirer?” he said, his expression serious.

  “This one’s not a secret,” she said with a self-conscious smile. “They came from Trace.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, still not smiling. “The boyfriend?”

  Nadine didn’t appreciate the ironic tone of his voice. “Yes. I got them this morning,” she answered.

  “He’s certainly expressing his affection in an atypical fashion.” Clint flicked a finger at the flowers. “I always labored under the impression that red roses were the flower of choice in a romance.”

  Where does he haul out that language from? “Well, labor no more, Fletcher. These days, anything goes.” Nadine took a noisy sniff of her flowers, her eyes on Clint.

  “It would seem that way,” Clint said dryly.

  “Boss, can you come here a moment?” Wally, the other reporter, called out from the end of the hallway.

  She turned and watched him go, puzzled at his comment and his attitude.

  Shrugging off Clint’s reaction, she returned to her office. She had a few calls to make, some follow-up work to do, and mail to go over.

  And it was Clint’s and her turn to “Face Off.”

  The weekly column was Dory Strepchuk’s legacy. Each week, two of the staff of any of the three sister papers took an opposing view on a controversial subject. This week, by some twist of fate, she and Clint had to go head-to-head on the topic “Should the government bail out large companies?” Thankfully, Clint had chosen the “yes” side.

  And that was okay with her.

  Her phone was ringing as she stepped into her office. It was Trace.

  “Get my flowers?” he asked.

  “I did. Thanks so much. They’re beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you are.” Trace chuckled. “That’s a pretty corny line, but it’s true. And you’re simply supposed to say ‘thank you.’”

  Nadine tried not to take his compliment seriously. “Thanks, Trace. They are very lovely.”

  “Got them because. I miss you, you know.”

  “We only met two days ago.”

  “But I feel very comfortable with you, Nadine,” he said, his tone serious. “I feel like I know you very well.”

  For once, Nadine didn’t know what to say. Trace seemed almost too good to be true.

  “I’m coming to town on Thursday. There’s a new movie showing in Eastbar. I thought we could go out for supper and then hit the movie. Just like we did last week.” He laughed. “What do you think?”

  Nadine couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips. “Sounds wonderful.”

  “This might sound silly, but I think we’re meant for each other, Nadine. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Me, too,” was all she could say. “Me, too.”

  “Why do we allow our government to bail out megacorporations,” read Nadine out loud, “while ignoring the daily bankruptcy of small, home-based businesses, owned by families and in financial difficulty because of circumstanc
es beyond their control? Is their plight less important than that of large companies?” Nadine folded the papers with a grin and set them on the table at the Riverside Inn. “And my column goes on to make many more very scintillating points.”

  “Very well done,” agreed Elaine, pulling a sprout out of her bagel. “Emotional, but well done.”

  “Of course, it’s emotional—it’s an editorial. And I’m facing off against Clint. I need to make my point.”

  “Well, you do tend to make very pointy points whenever you write about anything even remotely connected to Skyline, who, I’m guessing, is the megacorporation you’re nattering about.”

  Nadine frowned, lifting her chin in a defensive gesture. “They’ve received a ton of bailouts. You know it isn’t right.”

  “So have lots of other companies. And they do employ a lot of people who would otherwise lose their jobs. That isn’t right either.”

  “But that doesn’t make it any better.” Despite her brave words, Nadine felt a quiver of anxiety.

  “No, but you do seem to make a point of zeroing in on them.”

  Nadine caught an underlying emotion in her friend’s voice. “I’m sensing some sub to that text.”

  Her friend wrinkled her nose and shrugged, then held her gaze. “I know why you want to do this, and I used to think it was admirable. But, your ongoing fight has been taking over your life since your mother died.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Elaine set her bagel down, wiped her hand, then reached across the table and held Nadine’s hand. “I know you feel bad that you couldn’t get further on your father’s case, and that you wanted it resolved before she died, but nothing has changed.”

  Nadine thought of the letter she had received. She felt as if she was on the edge of a huge change.

  She couldn’t tell Elaine.

  “I think you’d be a lot happier if you let it go. Let it stop defining you.”