A Man's Heart

by Lori Copeland

  A Man’s Heart

  Lori Copeland

  ZONDERVAN.com/

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  By Lori Copeland

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  Prologue

  Washington State

  Jules’s breath caught in her throat. The lights in The Grille dimmed; heat rushed to her cheeks. She had to run. She had to get out of here! Sliding out of the booth, she fled.

  “Jules!”

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry …” Her breath came in ragged spurts. Poor Cruz. Why would she do this to him a second time? She loved him. She adored him, but she couldn’t marry him. Not tomorrow. She needed more time. She couldn’t be married, help Pop run the farm and go back to college. She wasn’t Superwoman.

  “Jules! Hold it right there!” The force in Cruz Delgado’s tone stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Drawing a deep breath, she held to the door frame. Jukebox music filled the background. Don William’s voice in the background sang something about “some broken hearts never mend.” She sensed Cruz stalk toward her. Think of a sane reason, Julianne Matias, some logical, justifiable circumstance that you would walk away from this man a second time. Visions of the hours and previous months that she’d spent winning back his confidence formed a gray aura around her.

  His surprisingly gentle touch stopped her plight. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to lead her out of the local watering hole to the parking lot. Bitter cold air caught her breath and she took deep drafts of foggy night air.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just a panic attack—”

  Just! She shrugged free, fighting a sense of impending doom. The kind of dread that some terrible calamity was about to befall her. “Sorry … I can’t, Cruz—”

  “We’ve been through this a hundred times, Jules.” His impatient tone penetrated her angst. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I realize I needed more time.”

  His eyes pinpointed her. Hurt filled their depths. “What do I have to do, Jules? How do I prove that I love you—more than life itself?” He turned her around to face him, his breath a vapor in the nippy weather. “You can commit to me. I’m not going to hurt you or abuse your trust.”

  Shaking her head, she tried to talk between gasps. “It isn’t a matter of trust—”

  “Bull!”

  “It isn’t, Cruz. It’s just … not right yet. Pop needs my help —”

  “Pop was growing Blue Bayou potatoes long before you were a twinkle in his eye, and he always managed to make ends meet. I can’t see how your going back to college now is going to help a blessed thing.”

  He was right. Her crazy idea that with more education she could get the farm in better financial shape was crock. She was looking for an excuse out and picked a poor one. She took a couple more deep breaths, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing the dread away. “I can’t explain … I wish that I could, but I can’t. It just doesn’t feel right …”

  “Okay.” He released her so swiftly that she lost footing. A calm hand steadied her. “So the wedding is off again.”

  No, not okay! Her heart screamed the silent rebuke. Calm. All she had to do was excuse the panic attack and pretend the incident never happened. They could continue with dinner, talk about last minute wedding preparations. The ceremony was at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Sophie’s lovely teal blue maid-of-honor dress hung in Jules’s closet. The cake was baked; flowers scheduled to be delivered to the church in the morning. She reached out and touched his arm and he drew back. “Please, Cruz …”

  “Not this time, Jules.” The street light above the brick building illuminated his face. Anger. Disbelief … disgust played across his rugged features and she couldn’t fault him.

  “Anytime you think about marrying, a steel gate slams into place. I want marriage, Jules, and kids.”

  “And that’s what I want.” She held up a pleading hand. “It’s exactly what I want, but …” She paused. “The time doesn’t feel right.”

  “This is the second time you’ve changed your mind at the last minute,” he snapped.

  “I know … I’m sorry. Perhaps in a few months …”

  Settling his hat back on his head, he said quietly, “Obviously, you don’t know what you want. Your problem, Jules, is you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not capable of making a marriage work. You think since your folks’ marriage was a disaster, yours is doomed to suffer the same fate.”

  “That’s not so.”

  “It is so. You got yourself tied in knots thinking if you marry me, we’ll end up trying to outshout each other.”

  “That’s not fair, Cruz.” Especially in view of the fact that her parents’ marriage had been a truck wreck. She knew she would never cheat on Cruz like her mother had on her father. The thought would never enter her mind.

  “Then what is your hang-up?”

  “I … need more time to work marriage into my life.” She looked up. “Why do you keep pushing?”

  “Pushing?” He shifted stances. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Pushing you into marriage?”

  “What’s the all-fired hurry? We’re young; we have all of our lives.” Marriage would come. Eventually.

  Irony dripped from his eyes and she turned away. “We’ve been dating since we were teenagers. You’re what? Twenty-six now and I’m looking at thirty. I’m tired of waiting for you, Jules.”

  She whirled to face him. “You know that deadlines freak me out —”

  “Problems,” he corrected. “You have problems with commitment, Jules. That’s when you freak.”

  “So not true. I commit: the farm, you, staying with Pop after Mom left. I can commit.”

  “To a movie, not to me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She drew a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll just forget all about this. I’m fine now.” The panic hadn’t subsided, but she could do this. She could make herself go through with the wedding this time. Lifting her chin, she smiled. “Let’s go finish dinner.”

  “You’re good now? You’re okay?” He slipped on his hat.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She loved him and she could commit as well as the next person.

  “Okay. Let me know when you can make a commitment and keep it.”

  “Now what’s that sup
posed to mean?” The dripping sarcasm in his tone stunned her. She’d just said to forget it. It was only a case of pre-wedding jitters.

  “It means that I’m tired of waiting for you to make up your mind whether you love me enough to marry me.”

  “That’s crazy talk. I adore you. All I’m asking is for a little more time.”

  “To go back to college. For four years.”

  “Not that much time. I want to go back and complete my education. WSU is doing cutting-edge work in potato nutrition; I talked to a friend and she says I can sign on as a lab assistant—or maybe get special dispensation to do a private study. You know how I love to experiment, and Pop could sure use the help. With an Agricultural Biotechnology degree, I can grow Blue Bayou’s business.” She reached out to console him. Her heart ached. She wanted to marry him … she wanted this terrible sense of panic to dissolve.

  “Didn’t we have this conversation when you went to college the first time?” He started to walk toward his truck.

  “Yes, but you didn’t object then. And that was for Crop Science.”

  “Because ‘then’ it was sensible. Now I want to marry you, Jules, and I’m not waiting another four years.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  She fell into step, dogging him, anger rising. “You don’t think so? You’re breaking up with me?”

  “Take it however you want.”

  She reached for the sleeve of his coat. “You can’t break up with me.”

  “Yeah? Who made that rule?”

  “We’re getting married tomorrow!” She couldn’t breathe. Who stole the air? He couldn’t walk out on her …

  He reached to open the truck door. “I think not.”

  “Cruz! You can’t do this—what about our friends? The church, Reverend Williams—we’ll look like complete fools—stop!” She stepped in front of him. “Stop.” Their eyes locked.

  “Step out of the way, Jules.”

  “You can’t leave—not like this.”

  “I’m supposed to stay and let you keep walking out on weddings?”

  “I haven’t walked out. I’m right here — and I love you.” She reached out to touch him, loving him with her eyes. This was her Cruz. Understanding. Patient. He was always there for her. He understood her.

  His features sobered. “You need two years? You got it.”

  Relieved, she tried to kiss him but he eased around her and opened the door. “But I won’t be around.”

  She stepped back, her mind whirling. What just happened? Had he broken up with her? Cruz? The only man in the world that she would ever love? Panic then regret choked her.

  Or had she broken the engagement a second time.

  She put her hand across her mouth and watched the taillights of his truck disappear into the foggy night.

  She’d broken up with him, she decided. Yes. For the second time in as many years, she’d jilted him.

  Chapter 1

  Almost four years later

  Im·pos·si·ble. a: incapable of being or of occurring. b. felt to be incapable of being done, attained or fulfilled: insuperably difficult.

  Jules tossed the paperback dictionary aside, took a sip of hot tea, and then yawned. Yeah. That one. Insuperably difficult. That was her to a T. Reaching for another seed potato, she dropped it and two mixed seedlings into the hole she’d finger dug in the dirt tub. She should give up. After years of trying to grow the perfect potato she was no further along. She’d gotten her wish; she’d attended WSU for almost four years and she’d been involved in exciting research. Last year she’d been granted special dispensation to conduct a private project for her thesis. The experiment gave her extra time to complete the document: How to Grow the Perfect Potato. She must have been intoxicated with sleep deprivation the day she thought of the idea. So far no mixture of hybrid had panned out. The dissertation was done and only needed a satisfying conclusion.

  Of course she’d lost Cruz in the process.

  She moved to the futon, lined with dirt tubs.

  She couldn’t grow a “perfect potato.” She couldn’t even hold on to a man’s heart. Cruz Delgado’s to be exact. Resting her head on a sofa pillow, she pictured the good-looking potato farmer. Delgado men were large, over six feet tall, dark hair and complexion. Did he ever think of her in the gutwrenching, totally sold out on love way she thought of him?

  Shoving the past to the back of her mind, she stood and brushed graham cracker crumbs off her pajamas before she tackled the stack of plastic TV dinner containers piled high in the sink. Finals always left her trying to manufacture time.

  The crowded living space was starting to grate on her nerves. Five wooden half-barrel tubs littered the living area. All filled with tubers—potato experiments. The tubs, a worn black sofa, an overstuffed chair piled with textbooks, a table with two chairs and a kitchenette had been her home the past four years. By choice, she lived off campus of Washington State University. At thirty, she didn’t exactly fit in with dewy-eyed eighteen-and nineteen-year-old college students, and socializing wasn’t her thing. She longed to go home, to be back on Blue Bayou, ride her horse, and raise potatoes. See Cruz. Catch a glimpse of him.

  She wasn’t a city girl; college had proved that. She loved Pop’s old farm where they scraped by selling Ranger Russets to a factory up north, and a few local markets, but it was barely a living. Lack of rainfall was a big factor in these parts; farmers had to irrigate and irrigation cost money.

  After running a sink full of steaming water, she washed the disposable containers and a few coffee cups. She didn’t own a dish. She drank from accumulated McDonald’s cups, and ate from sandwich wrappers and carry-out paper plates. Every chance she got she headed home, but Pullman, where the college sat, was a hundred and thirty miles from Blue Bayou and she was usually buried in experiments.

  Around midnight, her cell phone played a jazzy version of Beethoven. Jarred awake, Jules closed the book she’d been studying and reached to answer. A phone call this late at night either had to be a wrong number or bad news. She relaxed. It couldn’t be Pop; she’d talked to him this morning and he would have been in bed hours ago.

  “Jules?” The voice of Pop’s foreman, Joe Fraker, came over the line.

  A shiver raked her spine. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your dad, hon. He took a hard fall late this afternoon. We were planting the north field and he went a little too far out on a ridge. The tractor overturned—now they don’t think he’s hurt badly. I’d have called sooner, but you know how clinics are. We’ve been waiting on tests and he didn’t want me to call you until we knew something for certain.”

  Jules struggled to clear her rattled thoughts. Clinic. The injury couldn’t be too serious, or they would have moved him to Pasco.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood. Hit his head on a rock and cut about an inch slash in his noggin. They want to move him on up to the hospital in Pasco. If I have your permission, I’ll give the go ahead.”

  “Of course. Is he stable for now?”

  “I have to go, hon. I’ve called your sister.”

  Crystal. He’d called Crystal? The fall must be more serious than Joe was saying.

  “I’ll start now, Joe.”

  She sensed a nod in his tone. “I think you’d better.”

  It took all of five minutes to throw a few things into her backpack, and lock up. Her gaze fell on the potato tubs. Who’d look after her experiments — and she needed to record the last hybrid mix …

  Hang the experiment.

  Locking the door, she headed for her Geo Tracker. The apartment complex was quiet this time of night. Pop was hard-headed. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him, so why did Joe have to bring Crystal in on this?

  Chapter 2

  Franklin County, Washington

  May

  Cruz Delgado hefted a fertilizer sack and pitched it to his brother, Adan. The Delgado truck sat in front of Mayse Feed and Seed this morning
.

  Any mention of Jules Matias set him off. When her Tracker pulled up to the mortuary, he looked the other way. He had to hand it to his brother; it took Adan a good five minutes before he mentioned the fact that the irritant had arrived at Mellon’s.

  Adan swung a bag in the pick-up bed, head bent, lips sealed. The truck’s worn springs sagged beneath the weight. Then the elephant waltzed into the room, as it usually did. “You didn’t expect her to skip her dad’s funeral, did you?”

  “With her you never know.”

  Grinning, Adan shook his head. “You’re never going to get over her. Face it.” A sack of fertilizer caught him mid-section. He grabbed for support. “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself. I’m over her. Got it?”

  Adan ducked when another sack whipped through the air. The men paused for a breather. Cruz averted his gaze when Jules got out of the vehicle but Adan lifted a friendly hand.

  “Can’t you at least offer your sympathies?”

  “I’m going to Fred’s service.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t say a word to her.” Adan’s gaze followed the petite figure walking up the mortuary’s flower lined sidewalk. “Sure is a shame about Fred. An aneurysm to the brain, and bam, he’s history.”

  Cruz shook his head. No, he wouldn’t say a word to Jules. He’d said all he was ever going to say to that woman four years ago. Pitching the last sack on the truck, he pulled the brim of his Stetson down over his eyes, and then climbed into the cab. Truth was, he would miss ole Fred. He was a good neighbor, and if you needed something, Fred had it. Shame the farm he’d worked for over forty years would fall into strangers’ hands. The rural community was tight knit; neighbors were extended families. Most had been born and raised in the county. Nearly all raised potatoes, unlike the apple growers in other parts of the state.

  Cruz started the truck. Face it, Delgado. You’re not worried about Fred’s potato patch. You’re worried that when it goes, Jules goes. The admission caught him unawares. A hot branding iron rammed in his eye couldn’t have stung worse. Count your blessings. She and Crystal would sell out and that would be the end of Blue Bayou. Jules had been back in town less than twenty-four hours and already she had his mind going nuts.