Promise, Texas

by Debbie Macomber

  Driving into town, he parked his pickup, then quick-marched down the street toward the bookstore. He burst inside, determined to be done with this once and for all.

  “Annie.” He hadn’t intended to sound quite so demanding—or so loud.

  Belatedly, and thankfully, he realized she was alone.

  Startled, she looked up from the cash register. “Lucas?”

  “No,” he said. “I mean yes, it’s me. Obviously.” He groaned inwardly. “I…I was wondering…” He stopped, not knowing how to proceed. This was even worse than he’d envisioned.

  “You were wondering…” Annie prompted.

  Before he could say another word, the bell above the door jangled and Louise Powell walked in. Oh, wonderful—the town gossip. One thing about Louise, her timing was impeccable. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Here he was, hat in hand, stuttering with awkwardness. Louise paused when she saw him, and that sly knowing look came over her features.

  “Hello, Louise,” Annie said cheerfully. Too cheerfully, Lucas thought.

  He didn’t have a thing to feel guilty about, but he might as well have been a cat standing in a froth of feathers. Lucas cursed silently at the interruption.

  Louise stared at the two of them as though waiting for them to continue their conversation. “Hello, Lucas.”

  “Louise…” His gruff response did little to disguise his displeasure. Damn woman was about to ruin everything.

  Louise glanced from one to the other. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Annie shook her head. “Not at all. How can I help you?”

  “As a matter of fact, you did interrupt something,” Lucas muttered. Taking the woman by the elbow, he escorted her to the door. “I’m sure you won’t mind coming back at a more convenient time.”

  Based on his experience, it wouldn’t matter what he said or did from this point forward; Louise’s version of what had happened would be all over town within minutes, anyway. That was the last thing he wanted, but he wasn’t about to let this old biddy stop him now.

  “Well, really…” Louise clucked as he escorted her out the door and then locked it after her. To be on the safe side, he reached inside the window and flipped the Open sign to Closed.

  “Lucas?” Annie stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “What’s going on?”

  The problem was, he didn’t know. He drew in a deep breath, switched his hat from his left hand to his right and then rammed his fingers through his hair.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Do you like to eat?” he blurted out, immediately cursing himself for asking such an inane question.

  “Eat…Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “The Mexican Lindo—or what about the Chili Pepper? And there’s always the café at the bowling alley.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to lunch? Is that what this is all about?”

  “No, not lunch,” he snapped before he could stop himself. God help him, he was making a mess of this.

  “Oh?” Her confusion apparently matched his own.

  “Dinner,” he said, and fearing what he might say next, clamped his mouth closed.

  Some of the bewilderment left her eyes. “If I understand you correctly, you’re not asking me to lunch but to dinner, right?”

  By this time, Lucas was afraid to say another word. Nodding seemed the best form of communication.

  “Any day in particular?”

  All of a sudden Lucas felt the need to sit down. He sank into one of the overstuffed chairs she’d placed throughout the store. Hoping to make a fresh start, he ran his hands through his hair, disarranging it further, and inhaled deeply. “Annie, I apologize.”

  A hurt look flickered over her face. “For asking me to dinner?”

  “No, for making a fool of myself. It’s been a long time—years. Jane and Dovie suggested that I—” He stopped. One thing he didn’t need to tell her was that the entire idea had come from someone else. “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided you never wanted to lay eyes on me again. But in case you do, how about dinner?”

  Her smile was warm and forgiving. “I think that would be wonderful.”

  “You do? You’ll go?” He bounded to his feet. “Great—that’s really great.” Feeling jubilant, he headed toward the glass door, pausing only long enough to change the sign to Open.

  “Lucas.”

  He turned back, but not before he caught a glimpse of Louise Powell peering in through the display window, her hands cupped in front of her face.

  “Is there any particular night you’d like to go?” Annie asked.

  “How about…” He paused, afraid to suggest an evening without first clearing the date with Jane and Cal. “Is it all right if I get back to you? There’s…some other stuff I’d like to talk to you about, as well.” In light of how poorly this had gone, it seemed best to wait before he introduced the “just friends” idea.

  “Sure.”

  “You won’t change your mind?” he asked.

  “Not unless you do.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Trust me, after all this, it ain’t likely.”

  Annie smiled, and for the first time since entering the bookstore, Lucas felt like grinning himself.

  Louise Powell was still standing on the sidewalk outside Tumbleweed Books. He stopped, debating whether to say anything, then decided against it and hurried toward his truck.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dovie couldn’t believe everything that needed to be done before she and Frank left for Europe. Vanessa Boyd—always called Nessa—her sister-in-law from her first marriage, had agreed to fill in for Dovie at the shop. Amy McMillen, the pastor’s wife, had volunteered to collect the mail and newspapers and keep an eye on the house. Appointments, errands, deadlines crowded on top of one another until the thought of leaving for two weeks overwhelmed her.

  Frank was no help. He took all her crises in stride and insisted everything would take care of itself. His problem, in her opinion, was that he’d married too late in life to learn the importance of worry. She’d told Mary Patterson that, anticipating a big laugh, and hadn’t gotten one. Her strained friendship with Mary continued to bother her. Another item to add to her growing list of concerns.

  “You look exhausted, and you haven’t even packed yet,” Nessa commented when she entered the shop that morning. She was spending a couple of weeks working at the store to get a feel for the job before replacing Dovie.

  “I am exhausted,” Dovie confessed. She poured them each a cup of tea and placed her feet on the chair across from her. The ovens had been on since four o’clock that morning. No one seemed to appreciate how much effort went into preparing for a vacation, least of all Frank.

  “Oh, Dovie, you’re going to have the time of your life! Think about it—Paris, London, Amsterdam…”

  Dovie knew Nessa was right. She should be excited. Happy. But she wasn’t; she was tired.

  Nessa had been a godsend. The previous fall, her sister-in-law had returned to Promise after a long absence. For nearly thirty years she’d followed her oil-executive husband, Marvin’s brother, around the world. In their twenties, Nessa and Dovie had been as close as sisters, but then Leon had started work for one of the big oil conglomerates, and the couple had traveled frequently. Their three children, now grown, had settled in different parts of the country. And then, shortly before he was due to retire, Leon suffered a heart attack and died.

  Nessa hadn’t known what to do with herself afterward. Her children each had their own opinions about what was best for their mother. Judging by the phone calls Dovie had received from Nessa’s daughter, Sylvia, they obviously thought Nessa was incapable of making rational decisions. But she wasn’t. After a few months, much to Sylvia’s distress, Nessa decided to leave New Orleans and move back to Promise, and Dovie was delighted she had.

  Despite her daughter’s displeasure, Nessa packed up sixty-three years of life, which included a trunk full of
mementoes from the family’s travels. She bought the house that had once belonged to Ellie Patterson and moved in. All without the aid of her children, who continued to bicker among themselves. Dovie found it wryly amusing.

  “You’re going to love London,” Nessa promised, stirring her tea.

  “And Paris.”

  “Ah, Paris,” Nessa said dreamily. “The City of Light. There’s nothing like it, Dovie. Nothing.”

  Dovie knew she’d enjoy Europe once she got there, although at the moment her feet hurt and her head was full of all the tasks she had yet to complete. “It’s just that I’ve got so much to do.”

  “I’ll help. Why do you think I’m here?” Nessa stood, prepared to carry her half-empty teacup to the kitchen. “Now, where would you like me to start?”

  Dovie motioned her back to her chair. “You might be ready to get up, but I’m not through sitting yet.” Especially after an entire morning spent baking ten dozen scones to freeze so Nessa could serve them while Dovie was in Europe.

  Without complaint, Nessa sat down again. “At least let me dip the peanut-butter cookies for you.”

  “All right,” Dovie agreed. A few years earlier, she’d taken her peanut-butter cookies and half dipped them in a pot of melted chocolate. The result had made her cookies the most popular in town. She’d spent the day before baking a triple batch, hoping Nessa would have enough to last for the two weeks she’d be away.

  “You haven’t got a thing to worry about,” Nessa assured her. “I promise I’ll watch over the store as if it were my own.”

  “I know.” Dovie was grateful, too. Nessa’s return to Promise had been perfectly timed. Normally she would’ve asked Mary Patterson to step in for her. Not now. If Mary had wanted to help, she would have volunteered. And…she hadn’t.

  “I’m afraid that when we’re on our trip, I’ll be so tired all I’ll want to do is sleep.” Especially if this week was anything to go by.

  “You’re going to be much too excited to sleep,” Nessa said. “Traveling’s a wonderful adventure, and the memories will last you a lifetime.”

  “I’m sure I’ll feel better once we’ve actually left. All the work leading up to this vacation is what’s driving me nuts. Frank and I—” She stopped abruptly, realizing how thoughtless she must sound. Nessa had been a widow for only a year. “Nessa, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Nessa repeated. “For what?”

  “You traveled all over the world with Leon, and here I am dragging up those memories.”

  Nessa dismissed that idea with an absent wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. The memories I have are happy ones. I loved my husband and never regretted a day of our lives together. But I’ve adjusted to life without Leon. It took me six months to regain my balance and decide where home would be. I don’t know why Sylvia thinks she needs to watch over me twenty-four hours a day. I’m not a child.”

  “What’s Sylvia up to now?”

  “Nothing new. She seems to think I’m the type of woman who needs a man in her life.”

  Dovie had rarely met a woman as capable as her sister-in-law.

  “Lately she’s been suggesting I remarry. She said she wouldn’t worry about me so much if I wasn’t living alone. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous in your life?”

  “She’s joking, right?”

  “I wish. She’s already lining up men for me to meet when I visit this summer. I told her I wasn’t interested, but that’s never stopped Sylvia before and I don’t expect it will now.”

  “Are you going to put up with it?”

  Nessa laughed. “No, but I’ll have to go through the motions. She’s got her brothers involved in the great manhunt now.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Don’t worry, Dovie, I know how to handle my daughter.”

  “Perhaps I should talk to her,” Dovie suggested.

  “I don’t think so, seeing that you’re to blame.”

  “Me?” Dovie gave a small shriek. “Me? What did I do?”

  “Nothing much but find happiness after losing your husband. Sylvia says you’re a perfect example of a woman who’s gotten on with her life.”

  “I was a widow for eleven years before I married Frank,” Dovie protested.

  “I know.” Nessa fell silent for a moment. “Actually, I have only myself to blame for this. After Leon died, I was a mess. His death came as such a shock. He kissed me goodbye that morning, and by noon he was dead. Like I said, for six months I wasn’t myself—I hardly slept or ate or anything else. Then one day I woke up and realized Leon was dead, but I had the rest of my life to live. After all the moves and adjustments we’d made over the years, I figured I could do it one more time. Do I miss Leon? Damn straight I do. But he’s gone and I’m alive.”

  “Oh, Nessa, you’re so wise.”

  “Not really.” She laughed and shook her head. “Now, what is it you need me to do this morning?”

  “Were you serious about dipping the cookies?” It would be a great help, and one less headache for Dovie. They froze so nicely, too.

  “Of course I was serious.”

  “Oh, good.”

  The door opened and Frank walked in, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “How are my two favorite women this fine morning?” he asked, strolling leisurely across the room. He wrapped his arms around Dovie’s waist and nuzzled her neck.

  “Frank,” Dovie chastised him, embarrassed at the open display of affection. In the years since their marriage, he’d become more demonstrative.

  He chuckled and gave her a small squeeze before he released her. Dovie cast an apologetic glance at Nessa, but their eyes didn’t meet. Before Nessa could hide her response, Dovie viewed the pain on her sister-in-law’s face as clearly as if it’d been written in ink.

  Annie was surprised by how much she was looking forward to her luncheon date with Lucas Porter. Because of their busy schedules, it seemed impossible to find an evening they were both available. Between the children’s needs, including parent-teacher interviews, and extended office hours at the animal clinic, Lucas had no evenings free. And Annie still spent every night checking inventory, studying publishers’ catalogs and reading Publishers Weekly. Her free time coincided with his only once—on Wednesday afternoon of the following week. So they agreed to meet for lunch.

  By one o’clock, when she joined him at the Chili Pepper, she was nervous and uneasy. She could see that he was, too. After they’d been seated and ordered their lunch, the conversation came in fits and starts.

  “I don’t know what it’s been like for you since your divorce,” Lucas said, shifting his silverware from one side of his plate to the other, “but since Julia died, I’ve sometimes felt starved for lack of adult conversation. At least, conversation that isn’t strictly work-related.”

  “It does get lonely,” Annie admitted.

  “For me, too,” he muttered. “That’s why…” He hesitated and glanced in her direction, as if to gauge how much to say. “It’d be good to have a friend,” he said in a rush. “Someone who understands how damned lonely it can get. I’m not looking for anything more.”

  She nodded, unsure of what else to do. He didn’t need to paint her a picture. He wanted a friend. Okay, fine. An occasional lunch date. No problem. Someone to talk to, another adult who understood. She wanted that, too, so she really had no reason to feel disappointed.

  “I’m not interested in remarrying anytime soon, if that’s what concerns you,” she told him.

  “You’re not? Great.” His relief was evident.

  “Friends,” she said and held out her hand for him to shake.

  “Friends,” he said, reaching across the table.

  Until today’s lunch, Annie hadn’t quite known what to make of Lucas Porter. She had the impression that he was a good father; his daughters clearly adored him. And the way he’d botched asking her out had actually been quite endearing.

  Once Louise Powell had spread her news at a frenzied pace, half t
he people in town seemed intent on telling Annie what they knew about the widowed veterinarian and how much he’d loved his wife. Each recounted tales of what he’d been like three years earlier when he arrived in Promise, grief-stricken and depressed.

  Until now, Annie had been convinced this lunch was a mistake. She’d predicted to herself that they’d spend the entire time talking about his dead wife, her illness, her sterling character. And if not her, the conversation was sure to center on his two daughters.

  But Annie was wrong. After they agreed that being friends would be the extent of their relationship, they talked about books. Both were voracious readers and had read many of the same titles. After the initial awkwardness, their discussion during lunch was lively and animated, with a friendly argument or two. For instance, he thought a particular much-hyped new author was intellectually pretentious; she disagreed. Over coffee, the conversation flowed naturally to other subjects. They discussed similar experiences they’d had and exchanged observations. They talked about how moving to Promise had changed them. Normally shy, Annie was amazed at how much they had in common and how comfortable she felt with him.

  Eventually, they talked about the ghost town some miles outside Promise. Jane had written long letters telling Annie about Bitter End and the story behind it, so Annie knew the town had been the first settlement in the area. She remembered that shortly after the Civil War, disaster had befallen Bitter End and driven all the inhabitants away. They’d established a new settlement, which they’d named Promise, and the town had flourished from then on.

  Their lunch hour flew and almost before she was aware of it, they discovered it was time to leave.

  They continued to talk as he escorted her back to Tumbleweed Books. Reluctant to part, they found their steps slowing as they reached the store.