Finding Home

by Maddie James

  She hadn’t given it much consideration during the actual marriage, which was part of their problem. But she’d thought about it during the divorce, and after the judge ruled that Midnight’s share of the property would be close to what Midnight considered fair instead of what Jeff’s attorney had offered during settlement negotiations. It had always been all about Jeff and acquiring beautiful things. One night after their separation, they’d accidentally met at a party. Jeff had cornered her and asked why she was going to the trouble of hiring an attorney when his could draw up all the necessary papers and save the extra fee.

  “Because I want someone on my side, who knows what to look for, so everything’s done fairly,” she had answered evenly.

  “What? You think I’d cheat you?” he’d asked in a voice that became a little shrill in his agitation.

  “I think you’ve cheated on me, and I think you’ve cheated me out of twenty years of my life. Cheating me out of money and personal property wouldn’t even be an issue for you, Jeffrey.” He cringed when she said his full first name, which he hated.

  “I’ve spent our marriage acquiring beautiful things that mean a lot to me. You know you don’t really care about those things, Midnight. You’re just being bitchy because I finally decided to leave you.”

  “Jeffrey, I have every right in the world to be bitchy because of that. But I’m not. I just want what’s fair. You’re not the only one who acquired and enjoyed those beautiful things.”

  He’d decided to change tactics then. He reached out his hand and gently touched Midnight at her right jaw line just below the teardrop-shaped emerald-and-diamond earring.

  “Midnight, even after all these years, with your black hair and eyes and perfect alabaster skin, you’re the most beautiful of all, you know,” he whispered.

  “Most beautiful of all what?”

  “Of all the things I’ve acquired, you’re the most…”

  Jeff hadn’t completed the sentence, because Midnight had, quite without forethought, smacked him square on the cheek with the strength of a woman scorned and well-toned. His face, especially that cheek, had immediately turned crimson. A couple of mutual acquaintances had separated them, and, at her request, Midnight was ushered to the parking garage and her black Saab sedan. Jeff had one exactly like it, no doubt parked in the same garage. She’d been stunned a couple of years earlier when he’d presented her with the keys and said he’d sold her ancient Subaru while she’d been out of town. Midnight had loved that old car. Had spent many hours sitting in gridlocked traffic in the little vehicle with the marvelous add-on stereo and 200,000-plus on the odometer. Jeff had never liked it, had told her it was hideous. He’d said it was beneath her to drive a vehicle so—ahem—utilitarian. And he’d repeatedly said it wasn’t ladylike to drive a stick shift.

  Well, up his. The car episode had been just one in a long, miserable series of Jeff’s controlling her, or at least trying his level best to do so.

  She didn’t take well to being controlled, and when she’d finally realized their marriage was based on control, physical appearance, and impressing all the right people, she’d decided it was over for her. At that point, she was busy, as it was the time of year for her to travel to all of the stores and create Christmas displays. She had time in her hotel rooms to work out in her mind what she should do, and finally decided no amount of counseling would save the marriage. It wasn’t as if Jeff had changed during their years together. He hadn’t.

  Her expectations and needs had changed, and it was painfully apparent Jeff was either unable or unwilling to meet those.

  Midnight had sat with her laptop in the late hours and perused sites about coping with divorce. How to initiate the conversation. How to be sure the marriage is unsalvageable. How to end it without hating each other. Because she truly did not hate Jeff. She just didn’t want to be married to him any longer. Or ever see him again. Or, indeed, remember he existed.

  Armed with good advice from all the experts available on the Internet, Midnight arrived home to find The Note on the kitchen table:

  “Midnight. Sorry to let you know this way, but I can’t stay in this sham of a marriage anymore. The apartment lease is paid to the end of the month. You can renew in your sole name if you want to. My lawyer will send papers this week for you to sign. - J.”

  That had been almost a year ago.

  In spite of her own thoughts of divorce, she’d been overwhelmed by pain when she read the note. Not having close friends to confide in, for a while she limited her discussion of the situation to cell phone conversations with her parents and sister. When she did begin to open up to co-workers about her situation, she became aware of one fact. Though the details varied, the hurt was universal. Men and women alike shared stories of their own experiences. Being dumped sucked, big time.

  ****

  With that thought grinding into her brain deeper and deeper, Midnight pulled up in what had become her parking slot at the Bed & Breakfast and turned off the powerful engine. Taking a moment to relax against the soft leather headrest and close her eyes, she regained control of her emotions. It wouldn’t do to let the past get in her way. That was over. She was here now to start a new life, and Jeff couldn’t affect her anymore. She breathed deeply a few times, blowing out the negative energy and filling her lungs, and her being, with the positive energy from her new power car, the tranquil scenery of Legend Valley, and the pale yellow Victorian cute-as-a-button B&B she would enter in a few minutes. She felt a little better after this ritual and climbed out of the car. Pulling her handbag with her, she carefully assured herself the doors were locked. The locals simply did not lock things, but Midnight did. Always. It wasn’t wise to be too trusting.

  Entering the front door of the B&B, an immediate sense of peace and comfort enveloped her as it did each time she stepped into the house. Some of the strain of her recollections of the Jeff. Years fell away. Her shoulders were still tight, but she relaxed her hands from the fists they’d become. She walked to the kitchen and leaned against the door jamb. Suzie looked up from a large steaming stainless steel pot and smiled her I love everybody smile.

  “Hey, Midnight honey. Have a hard day?”

  “Oh, not really. Just some unfortunate memories cropping up. Makes me tired.”

  Suzie weighed that for a moment. “It’s not fair, is it, honey? Some people keep their hold on us even when they’re gone. Even when we think we’re rid of their sorry behinds. Well, you come on over here and stir this soup for me while I work on the yeast rolls a minute. Nothing like some kitchen time to work out stress.”

  She held the large spoon until Midnight took it, showed her how to stir slowly, just so, to ensure the creamed soup would heat evenly and not stick.

  Midnight stood there, mimicking the motion Suzie had shown her, enjoying the aroma of the vapor as it rose. She watched Suzie’s adept movements with the yeast dough, shaping dozens of tiny round balls and then putting three in each greased muffin cup.

  “Cloverleaf rolls, Midnight. Funny-looking, aren’t they? But when they bake up, they won’t be three little balls in a muffin cup. Each cup will have a perfectly shaped roll with three knobs on top. You pull them apart and slather them with butter. Mmm. Nothing much better in this world than fresh bread and butter. At least nothing I can do in my kitchen. Health department, you know.”

  It took a moment, but Midnight caught Suzie’s meaning and laughed as Suzie winked long and slow.

  “Why, Suzie Schul, shame on you! What talk! But don’t let me stop you. Just what have you been doing in the kitchen that has the health department after you?”

  The smile tightened a little. “Oh, honey, I don’t really do it in the kitchen. Just teasing. Trying to get you to laugh, and it worked. If you come home some time and find all the doors locked, though, don’t peek in the windows. You never know when someone tall, dark and handsome might walk into my kitchen and knock the socks off me.” She sighed delicately and bit her lip; her face flushed. They
both knew it wasn’t from the warmth of the kitchen. “Not that I need a man. Because I don’t,” she added with a quick, worried look.

  Words that were part of Midnight’s current mantra. But in her short friendship with Suzie, she’d wondered if her hostess was ready for a new love in her life. Midnight didn’t know why Suzie’s first marriage had ended, and didn’t know her well enough to ask. So she assumed yet another idiot man had made the mistake of his life. Why did most of them zip their brains into their jeans?

  “Well, if Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome gets in the way of you fixing supper for your guests, I hope you realize there’ll be an uprising!” Midnight said, to lighten the mood.

  Suzie dimpled. “I guess I’ll have to teach him to cook, then.”

  “Or find yourself a chef. What a perfect match that would be!” Midnight laughed at her own joke, but didn’t miss the horrified look Suzie gave her, and then dropped her gaze to the cream soup swirl in the pot while she stirred.

  Something hit a nerve there. “Some people seem to find the perfect match, you know,” she continued. “My parents are like that. It gives me hope for the future of marriage. For the species in general.”

  “Oh…that reminds me. Martin McClain called for you today.”

  Midnight dropped the spoon and barely caught it before it was totally immersed in the soup. “He did? Why?”

  Suzie smiled. “Didn’t say. Martin’s not much of a talker most of the time. He said he’d tried your cell, and would catch you another time.”

  “I don’t get good cell reception here. The land line should be installed at the shop soon. Why would he call?”

  “Better yet, why didn’t he just walk over and talk to you at the shop?”

  “I was busy all day. He may have looked in, or even stopped in and I didn’t see him. It’s been a steady stream of arts and crafts people, thanks to Betsy.”

  “Hmm. It seems funny.”

  “What does?”

  “Martin. Calling you. Or walking over to talk to you. Just not like him at all. Funny.”

  “I saw Betsy right before I came home, and she didn’t say anything about it.”

  “He probably didn’t mention it to Betsy. She’s got a lot on her mind right now.”

  “Right. Like, is he going to let her stay home with the baby?”

  “Oh, I think Martin would let Betsy do about anything she wanted. That decision’s more likely one she’ll let her husband make, though. She’s an old-fashioned little thing.”

  “Right. That’s what I said. Whether he’s going to let her stay home.”

  “Mike?”

  “Who’s Mike?”

  “Mike McClain. Betsy’s husband.”

  The long handled spoon slid out of Midnight’s hand again, but she was too slow to catch it this time.

  “What’s that little smile about?” Suzie looked at her as if she had an idea.

  “Smile? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about Betsy. And her husband, Mike. I’ll bet they’re a good match.”

  “Nearly perfect.”

  Suzie got another long-handled spoon, scooped the first one out of the soup, and dropped it into the sink. She handed the new one to Midnight, who automatically began to stir again.

  “Well, if Martin McClain was calling me, it must be about business. Why else, after all?”

  Midnight wouldn’t let herself think Martin might’ve been calling her for a personal reason. Impossible.

  Plus, Midnight had sworn off men. She definitely wasn’t interested in a romantic entanglement. Even with a tall, handsome man whose dark chocolate eyes made her hungry. No, she wasn’t interested.

  She stood and stirred, and tried not to think about him.

  Chapter Seven

  Later, Suzie hoisted the last of the twenty-five pound bags of mulch from her car with a grunt and dropped it next to the stone foundation of her house. There. Ready for her to spread in the morning. Hard work was a good thing—a good thing to keep your mind off of things you’d rather not think about, she thought. Like, tall dark and handsome men.

  She hadn’t called Brad back and hoped that was enough of an indication to him that she wanted to be left alone.

  Didn’t want to talk to him.

  Looking up, she caught the sun settling over downtown Legend, a half mile or so in the distance. She loved living on the edge of town, right on the lake. She liked being just so far removed from Legend’s daily hustle and bustle. If you could call it that. Downtown Legend did boast of a business district, but nothing compared with the likes of nearby Knoxville or the vacation and shopping hot-spots of Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge.

  But Legend was Legend, small town at its best. No big box stores. No strip malls. Just a busy little downtown. And they liked it. Just the way it was.

  Life and business, and living in her new home, were good. She marveled every single day how she’d acquired the quaint Victorian cottage-like home. It was a dream come true. And every day she said a little prayer of thanks for any higher power who might have assisted in her achieving this dream.

  Legend’s Landing Bed & Breakfast was hers. She’d worked hard to convert it to her bed and breakfast and renovate the kitchen for her cooking classes. It was also the perfect place to work on her cookbook.

  Cliff had left her, yes. And her sister had betrayed her, yes. But secretly she thanked the two of them, and held no grudges against them, because their decisions had forced her hand. And when that happened, she’d started making plans on how to live the rest of her life.

  Legend’s Landing was the rest of her life. She intended to stay here, running this little B&B and doing her cooking thing for years to come.

  Her gaze spanned the horizon and then settled on the lake. Smiling, she rubbed her hands together to rid them of dirt and then wiped them on the thighs of her pants. The flowers she’d planted and watered would be fine for the night. She was bone tired. Dusk was settling in, and all she wanted was a quiet walk down to the lake for a few moments of silence.

  But after taking one step, the growing rumble of a surly engine forced her to turn back toward the front of the house. A large motorcycle—one of those bad-boy types—and its rider leaned into the curve and then smoothly made their way up the short drive to her home. She liked the way the bike thundered into her peaceful existence and wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps because it gave an edge to the night, a hint of excitement that the B&B normally didn’t lend at this time of evening.

  The rider stopped the bike after a couple of revvings of the engine then abruptly cut the thing off.

  Suzie stood spellbound staring at the man on the cycle. He wore black from head to toe—helmet, leather jacket, hip-hugging tight jeans, and boots. Yes. Bad boy. The man stood silent and unmoving, staring back at her.

  She’d expected another guest this evening, a Mr. Logan, and supposed it was him. He hadn’t said anything about coming in on a bike—not that her guests ever indicated the type of vehicle they’d arrive in.

  She stepped forward, again wiping her dirty hands on her pants, silently wishing she’d ended her planting early and had showered. She reached out, ready to shake his hand and welcome him.

  He dismounted and slipped off his helmet. His steady gaze met hers and held while he shifted the helmet to his left hip and ran five fingers through his ruffled, jet black hair.

  An icy panic shot up her back and she sucked in a breath and held it. She’d know that finger-rake mannerism anywhere.

  It was at that precise moment Suzie felt herself go a little light-headed. Dizzy.

  Before she realized it, she’d hit the ground with a thud.

  ****

  “Christ, Suzette. I didn’t mean to scare the hell out of you.”

  His voice was soft, whispery and caring, with that familiar rasp around the edges. In her haze it felt like he was stroking her face with his fingertips, brushing her hair out of her eyes. No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? But she felt so warm, protected, like he had cradled her d
eep in his arms.

  Suzie blinked several times as her brain came back to awareness.

  He was holding her. She was cradled in his arms. He was stroking her face and cooing down at her.

  Shit! She bolted upright. He grabbed her and pulled her back down into his lap.

  “Suzette! Sit still. You passed out and hit your head.”

  “What… What are you doing? Oh...” Dizzy again. Damn.

  “Would you quit squirming? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  That was probably the understatement of the century. Hurt her? No, Brad Matthews would never hurt her—physically. Emotionally? Probably. She searched his face through bleary eyes. It had been eighteen months since she’d seen him. She didn’t want to acknowledge to herself how much she had missed that face.

  She scooted up, rubbed her temple, and pushed away from him. “Brad... I…”

  “Let’s get you in the house and get an ice pack for your head. And a painkiller. You’re going to have a nasty bruise. You realize you hit your head on the edge of that stone wall? We may need to take you to the emergency room.”

  The last thing she wanted was for Brad to take her to the emergency room. Think she was talk of the town now? Wait until the gossip mongers got hold of that story. Bad-boy motorcycle jock tending to poor Suzie’s needs… Even more frightening was him taking care of her in her own home. She didn’t need that. Too close, too private, too many memories flooding back.

  But for some insane reason, she let him lead her into her house, his arm steadying her, and she followed along quite nicely like an obedient little puppy. Which was fine since it appeared she was still a little weak in the knees.

  She was pretty certain it wasn’t from the fall.

  Brad took a deep breath as he entered her house, looked around, and settled Suzette on a comfy sofa in the living room.

  “You sit tight,” he ordered. “I’m going for ice. Which way is the kitchen?”