Instead I kept walking. A few people passed me, and I felt their curious glances; whether that was because I was a stranger or because I looked as though I’d slept in my clothes—which of course I had—I wasn’t sure. I kept my head down and my eyes on the pavement in front of me.
I was wandering without any sense of where I was headed, turning corners and hoping I’d figure out how to get back to the apartment by the time Trent was home from work. Of course, Burton wasn’t exactly New York City, so I had a hunch getting lost would be difficult.
At the third corner, I hesitated. I was back at the main drag in town, having executed three sides of a square. Across the street was an older house that had been converted to a doctor’s office, and to my right sat a dry cleaner. But it was when I turned to see what was behind me that I caught my breath.
The building was brick, two stories, with double doors painted white. The sign on the lawn was made of weathered wood, and words carved into it made me grin.
McAllister Memorial Library of Burton
From my earliest memories, libraries had been my sanctuary. As soon as we moved into a new town or onto a new Army post, the first thing I’d do once the moving trucks had pulled away—and sometimes even before, if I could sneak off without my mom knowing it—was find the public library. I’d get my new library card, if I could scrounge up proof-of-address, or at the very least, I’d make friends with the librarians. And then I’d be back at least once a week, finding new books and getting lost in a world that felt warm, accepting and safe. It was my haven in a life that often seemed chaotic and out of control.
Before I could stop to think about it, my feet were moving up the stone steps to the doors. I turned the doorknob, testing it, half expecting the door to be locked, as I wasn’t sure it was even nine o’clock yet.
But it opened, and I stepped into the warmth with gratitude, breathing deep the familiarity of books, wood polish and silence. For a moment, I was in utter bliss.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
The voice belonged to the woman standing against the check-out desk, her arms folded over her chest. She was about my height, I judged, probably in her late forties, with light brown hair and wide blue eyes. She regarded me with mild surprise and the hint of a smile.
“Um.” I twisted the strap of my purse between my fingers, all too conscious of how I probably looked. I wondered if she thought I was homeless or down on my luck, on the prowl for a place to hang out.
Then again, maybe she wasn’t that far off.
“I’m new in town.” I blurted out the words. “I don’t start working until tomorrow, and my, uh, stuff, my bags with my clothes, haven’t caught up with me yet.” I tried for a confident smile. “I don’t know anyone here, and I don’t have my car yet, either, so I was just . . . taking a walk. And I saw the library. I love libraries.”
The woman laughed softly. “Well, that’s good to hear. I always think a love of libraries is the sign of a kindred spirit.” She extended her hand to me. “I’m Cory Evans. Welcome to Burton.”
“Thanks. I’m Elizabeth Hudson.”
“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” She tilted her head, studying me. “I just put on the kettle for my morning tea. Would you like to join me? My daughter-in-law made me some delicious cinnamon buns, and they go very well with a hot cup of tea.”
My stomach chose that minute to emit a loud growl, and I met Cory’s gaze sheepishly. “I guess I can’t very well claim I’m not hungry, huh? Thank you. Tea and cinnamon buns sound heavenly.”
The staff room beyond the desk was small, but with a small round table in the center and several overstuffed chairs set up around it, I could feel the coziness. Cory waved for me to sit in one of the chairs as she prepared to pour the tea.
“My daughter Maureen gave me this tea for Christmas, and I’ve been enjoying it every day since. It’s a holiday spice, and it just warms me up.” She lifted the lid from a small white china pot and pulled out a silver ball infuser. “Do you like honey in your tea? The Nelsons send me jars of the honey from their bees.”
When I had the cup and saucer in my hand and a cinnamon bun on the plate in front of me, Cory sat down, too. She took a dainty sip and closed her eyes, humming.
“So, Elizabeth. What brings you to Burton?”
I stalled by taking a drink and using my fork to cut into the bun. “Ah . . . it’s kind of a long story. But the short answer is that I bought a law firm.”
Cory raised one eyebrow. “Clark Morgan’s firm? I knew he was retiring, but I had no idea he’d actually sold the practice. His wife’s been pestering him for the last three years. She wants to move to New Mexico, to be near their grandchildren.”
“Yeah, he seemed pretty happy when I called him.” I closed my eyes as I bit into the bun. “My God, these buns are incredible.”
Cory’s mouth tightened on the corners. “Yes, Ali’s got a gift.” She shook her head and laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I’m a real stickler about swearing, and I’m always on top of my girls about it.” She rolled her eyes, apology sketched on her face. “You remind me of my daughters. I was about to give you a hard time for taking the Lord’s name in vain.”
I swallowed the bite I’d just taken. “I’m sorry. My mom’s the same way, but I was the only girl in my family. She pretty much gave up by the time I was a teenager.”
“Ah, so you have brothers?” She leaned back in her chair. “I have two daughters and one son. Well, clearly, since I have a daughter-in-law. And I have one granddaughter, two grandsons and another of one kind or the other on the way.”
A wistful sense of longing rose in me. “Sounds like you have a wonderful family. You’re lucky.”
“I am. Very blessed.” Cory fiddled with her napkin. “My husband and I were married for over thirty years before he passed last year. I would’ve given anything for more years, but the time we had together was . . .” She paused. “More than any woman could ask for.”
“I’m sorry.” On impulse, I reached across and gripped her hand. “I can’t imagine being with someone that long, and then losing him.” I thought of Trent, and my heart stuttered a little.
“You’re not married?” Cory glanced at my left hand, and my thumb rubbed against my ring finger.
“I’m . . .” I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t lie to this woman. Yeah, we’d just met, but she’d invited me in, made me tea and . . . well, she was a librarian. If I couldn’t open up to her, who could I trust? “Actually, I am married. But it’s kind of complicated.”
“Oh, sweetheart, the best ones always are.” She grinned, kicked off her black heels and tucked her feet beneath her in the chair. “Do tell. I love a good story.”
I worried the corner of my lip between my teeth. “Okay, well . . . I was living in Crystal Cove, in Florida—”
“Oh, I know where that is. My daughter-in-law’s sister-in-law Meghan is from there. I was down for the wedding last year.”
My eyes narrowed. “Is everyone in Burton related to everyone else? I know of Meghan. Her mom Jude is a friend of mine. And I rented office space from her stepfather Logan.”
“It’s a small world, for sure. And no, we’re not all related . . . quite. But sometimes it feels like we are. Anyway, go on. You were living in Crystal Cove. Were you working there?”
I nodded. “I moved down there right after law school graduation. My best friend talked me into opening a practice with her.” I thought about Darcy and her giddiness that had convinced me moving to Florida was a grand idea. “Unfortunately, right after we opened, she met a guy, married him and moved to Ohio. I had to buy her out and stay in a town where I didn’t know a soul.”
“Oh, honey. That’s terrible. What about your family? They weren’t in Florida?”
“No. My dad’s in the Army, and they’re always moving. It was my decision to move to Florida, so I had to deal with the consequences.” The truth was, I’d never asked for help or even complained to my parents about what ha
d happened with Darcy. I’d been taught well the importance of keeping a stiff upper lip—and that didn’t include whining about something I couldn’t change. My dad would’ve told me to put my head down and get through it, and my mother would’ve pretended everything was fine. It was our family’s MO.
“Anyway . . .” I brought my focus back to the present, or at least to the near-past. “Logan rented out the parking lot of his office building to a guy selling Christmas trees last November. The owner’s nephew was working for him there, and that’s how I met Trent.”
“Trent?” Cory looked startled. “Trent Wagoner?”
Of course, she would know him. Hadn’t we just established that everyone knew everyone else in this town? “Yeah, Trent Wagoner.” I waited for her reaction, not sure what to expect. When Trent talked about his hometown, it was with a mix of wistful nostalgia along with an odd bitterness. I couldn’t remember much about how Mason Wallace and his wife had reacted the night before when I’d named Trent as my husband. I wondered if Cory would give me more insight.
“That’s who you’re married to? Oh . . . hmmm. I’d heard that he was working for his uncle up in Michigan. Well, that’s nice.” Cory didn’t give away anything in her tone or expression.
“It all happened so fast. We were just friends at first, because he—Trent was kind of on a fast from, uh, from girls.” Talking about his self-imposed sex fast with the woman who’d admitted swearing made her uncomfortable didn’t seem like a good idea. “But then one thing led to the other, and we spent Christmas together.” And what a Christmas it had been. Every minute together, we’d made new memories I’d expected to be just the beginning of our life together. “We were so happy, and it felt right . . . and I know it sounds insane now, but he asked me to marry him, so on New Year’s Eve we drove up to Georgia and got married in Kingsland, just before midnight.”
“Wow.” Cory set down her tea. “That was very fast, wasn’t it? How long had you known each other?”
I felt my defenses rising. “We’d known each other since before Thanksgiving. And we’d been—uh, together since Christmas.” My shoulders slumped. “Yeah, it was fast. Probably too fast.”
“That’s a call only you two can make. Some of the best marriages begin impulsively.” Cory smiled and patted my hand. “So that’s how you came to be in Burton?”
“Kind of.” I squirmed in my comfortable chair. “Trent talked about this town a lot. And we were trying to figure out what our future was going to look like. I’d just finished paying off what I owed from buying out my friend Darcy, and the world seemed wide open. One night, Trent started telling me about Burton, and he said if I came here and opened a practice, we could live in town at first, and then maybe buy some land just outside and have our own little farm. He talked about building us a house, and about what he wanted our lives to be like.”
That night had been one of my favorites from our brief time together. Trent had held me in his arms as we drowsed in bed, both us sated and warm and optimistic. It had felt like anything was possible.
“And stupidly, I thought he was serious about coming back here. I never had a hometown. I had moving trucks and Army posts and a suitcase. So I guess I idealized what it would be like. I thought he’d be pleased, but I guess I jumped the gun.” I turned my teacup in a circle on its saucer. “The next day, after we’d talked, I went onto my law school alumni website and started looking for openings near Savannah. There was a posting about Clark Morgan’s firm, and I should’ve talked to Trent first, but I thought it’d be a good surprise.” I twisted the hem of my shirt between my fingers.
“And it wasn’t?” Cory gave me a sympathetic grimace.
“Not exactly. I called Clark and we worked out the deal—he was so excited—and he gave me the name of a woman who could rent me an apartment in town, until we could find something more permanent. I called her, found out she had a place available, and I put down a deposit on it. When I got home that night, I couldn’t wait to tell Trent what I’d done. But he was less than . . . appreciative.”
That was putting it mildly. He’d gone eerily quiet, his face shuttering into stark emptiness the longer I talked. When he finally spoke, it’d been in short, terse sentences, questioning me about why the hell I’d thought he’d ever want to go back to his hometown. When I’d tried to explain, he’d stalked into the bedroom, closed the door and gone to bed without another word.
Cory sighed. “Oh, honey. Here you thought you were doing something good . . . I’m sorry. Trent’s history here isn’t easy.”
I nodded. “But I still thought we’d work it out. I figured once he’d gotten over his mad, we’d talk and I could explain why I’d done it.” My throat tightened. “But I woke up the next morning, and Trent was gone. He texted me later that day and said he’d realized we’d rushed into everything. That it had been a mistake, and we’d be better to walk away now, before things got too tangled up.” I spread my hands in front of me. “And that was it.”
“And yet here you are.” Cory tipped the teapot over my cup and then her own. “What made you decide to come to Burton anyway?”
“Mostly because I’d already made the commitment to Clark. And I know it sounds stupid, but I never thought Trent would be here. The way he’d talked about this town, I assumed it was the last place he’d be.” I picked up my cup. “I have no idea why I told Mason . . .” My voice trailed off. Sharing the story of my quickie wedding and crazy impulsive ideas about buying into law practices was one thing, but telling the kind librarian that my first action upon entering this fine town was getting shit-faced drunk was altogether different. And I really didn’t know why I’d mentioned Trent’s name to Mason, let alone confess that he was my husband. It must’ve been the wine.
“Mason? You already met Mason Wallace? I thought you just got to town.”
I winced. “I did. But I stopped at his bar on the way in. That’s how I found out Trent was here.”
“Uh huh.” Cory looked like she was biting back a smile. “So you’ve seen Trent?”
“You could say that. I’m kind of staying at his apartment. Which I figured out is actually my apartment. He had to leave early this morning to go to work, so I don’t know why he’s in Burton, why he’s living in the apartment I’d arranged to rent or . . . well, I don’t know anything. He says we’re going to talk this afternoon.”
Something I couldn’t read passed through the librarian’s eyes. “How much did Trent tell you about his childhood?”
My mouth tightened. “I know about his mother. He didn’t say much about her, but what he did mention didn’t paint a very pretty picture. And then I met her this morning.” I paused, remembering the spiteful bitterness on her face. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well. She didn’t exactly welcome me into the family.”
“I’m sure.” Cory sighed. “Donna Wagoner is—well, my mother taught me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say about someone, I shouldn’t say anything at all. So I’ll keep my mouth closed, I guess.” Her spoon clicked against the saucer as she lay it down. “I’ve known Trent since he was in kindergarten. He was in my son Flynn’s class, and it was pretty clear from the beginning that he had, uh, challenges at home. I didn’t know Donna before that, but I met her then.”
“What was he like as a little boy? Trent, I mean?” Imagining the strong, stoic man I knew as a child was almost impossible.
Cory grinned. “He was a cutie. Those big blue eyes, and he was blond in those days. A little towhead. But he was very serious. He almost never smiled, it seemed to me.” She focused over my shoulder, her gaze going soft. “I always remembered one thing, from when the kids were in third or fourth grade. Flynn and Trent were both playing soccer then, and they’d usually come over here after practice, then I’d drive Trent home. I used to invite him to stay for dinner, because I had a feeling he didn’t get much in the way of home-cooked meals. But he’d always say, ‘Oh, no, Mrs. Evans. Thanks, but my mom is waiting for me. She bakes me cookies
every day for when I come home from school. I don’t want to miss them.’
“Of course, I knew that wasn’t true. I doubt his mother was even home most days after school. By that time, he’d been in and out of foster care at least twice. It just broke my heart when he said that.”
Pain twisted in my chest as I pictured Trent, an earnest eight- or nine-year old, telling the story of how he wanted his life to be. Somewhere along the way, he’d come to grips with his reality. It hadn’t exactly made him bitter, but he was guarded and more than a little cynical, I thought.
“I can’t understand why he’d want to come back here and live with his mother after the way she treated him. I got the impression he tried to stay as far away from her as possible.” I finished my second cup of tea.
“You don’t know that he wanted to come back.” Cory arched one eyebrow. “I’m not going to say anything else, Elizabeth, because it’s up to Trent to share with you what he will. But I’ll just give you a little insight into the male psyche, if you don’t mind. No matter how much little boys grow up into men, inside there’s still that child who wants to be wanted. Who wants to be loved and wants to trust the people who are supposed to provide that love. It’s the same reason women return to their abusers time and again, and why kids are sometimes reluctant to talk about mistreatment. We’re programmed to want to believe the best in people. And no matter how horrible a mother Donna was—and is—somewhere deep inside, Trent wants to believe she can change. He probably wouldn’t admit it, but it’s something for you to keep in mind.” She reached over to pat my knee. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the topic. Now, I’ve got books to reshelve and other work to do, but you’re more than welcome to stay here until Trent gets home. I can’t imagine you want to go back and hang out with Donna.”
I shuddered. “No, thanks. I think I’d end up saying something I might regret if I had to spend any more time with her.”
Always My Own (Always Love Trilogy #2) Page 5