by Vicki Hinze
“He died saving the life of another man.”
“All those years ago, and yet you still love him.” What did a man have to do, what could he do, to make any woman love him that much?
Bess’s words again haunted him. It’s just a piece of paper and doesn’t change a thing.
The skin beneath Miss Hattie’s eyes crinkled. “I love him with all my heart.” Her conviction burned strongly in her voice, in the gentle upthrust of her chin.
War was hell on the men and women who fought it, and on those left behind. Because of that war, Miss Hattie had been cheated out of a lifetime of loving, of marrying, and having a family. She’d have made a wonderful wife and mother. Saddened by her loss and touched by her devotion to her soldier, John softened his voice. “I’m sorry he didn’t make it home.”
She raised her brows. “But he did, Jonathan. A part of him never left home. With my every breath, he lives on in me.”
Cecelia and Collin’s rare kind of love. Elise and Clayton’s kind of love. An empty ache gnawed at John’s stomach. He and Bess never had known that kind of love. At least he hadn’t, and he didn’t think Bess had, either. And he feared he’d die without ever knowing it.
Miss Hattie turned on the big, antique radio behind her. Big band era music drifted through the kitchen, and she softly hummed along with it. Her head bowed, she studied the embroidery in her lap. She was sewing the Seascape Inn logo onto a new batch of crisp, white napkins. Yellow thread.
She had a fondness for yellow; nearly every flower in the house was some shade of it. Some soft buttercup, some bright and sunny. Those on the kitchen table, upstairs in his bedroom. There’d been yellow flowers in a crystal vase in Bess’s room, too.
And in Elise’s hand.
A cold chill raced up his spine. When she’d died, Elise had held a single flower petal. According to the florist John had consulted for accuracy, one from a yellow carnation. And yet, of all the flowers in her hospital room, there hadn’t been a single carnation . . . or a single yellow flower.
Was the color significant to women of that age? Miss Hattie and Elise had been relatively close to the same age. Well, not really. But there had to be an explanation to that flower petal and an answer to the mystery of how Elise had gotten it. During her entire hospital stay, he had been the only visitor permitted to see her.
“Miss Hattie, why are all the flowers around here yellow?” Maybe she could at least shed some insight.
“They hold a special place in my heart, dear. My soldier adored yellow flowers.”
Personal, not a custom of the time or any reason he could apply to Elise. “I see.” And all these years later—several decades—Miss Hattie still held them dear.
What did Bess hold dear and special in her heart?
John pushed aside an empty plate, and pressed his finger to a crumb of pie crust that had fallen onto the table. At one time, he’d thought he could answer that. Now, he knew he didn’t have an inkling. He’d never asked her. Not easy to admit, but true. Maybe on this second chance, he could try a little harder. And maybe the information he’d learned from his phone call with Bryce earlier would help him to do just that.
“Jonathan.” Miss Hattie looked up at him again and stopped rocking. “I wouldn’t presume to intrude, dear, but I think you should know something about Bess.”
He frowned. “Oh?”
“She’s . . . concerned about you.”
Bess? Concerned about him? Right. If it wasn’t so sad, the idea would be funny. If she were concerned, which she wasn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be concerned after their next round of discussions on the settlement. She’d be furious. Maybe even let him see a little more of that sass. Inwardly, he smiled. He could hardly wait. “Oh?”
Miss Hattie nodded, her bun jiggling. The lights set her soft white hair to sheening. “She senses your grief and doesn’t understand it. Haven’t you told her about losing Elise, dear?”
“No, I haven’t.” He couldn’t hold Miss Hattie’s worried gaze, and let his fall to the needlework in her lap. “She and Elise . . .” He frowned. “They didn’t get along.”
“I understand.” Miss Hattie lowered her tone just enough to prove she really did understand. “Far be it from me to suggest I know your wife better than you do, but she is worried, Jonathan. It would ease her mind to know the reason you’re grieving.”
He sighed. “I can’t tell her. I thought about it, but I can’t. Elise was . . . special.”
“I know, dear, and you aren’t certain Bess’s reaction will be kind or compassionate.” Miss Hattie stuffed her sewing into a little black bag with yellow flowers on it, then set the bag onto the floor beside her rocker. “But Bess is kind and compassionate. She’s special too, and she feels your discord with her is what has you sad. She feels responsible.”
Some part of John took satisfaction in that. It wasn’t a part of himself he took pride in or one he wanted to emulate, but it was real and there. “She’s only concerned because of the settlement. It’s the last obstacle between us and her freedom.”
“It is?”
He nodded. “Bess is in love with another man, Miss Hattie.” God, but those words hurt coming out of his throat. They left his tongue bitter, and his heart hollow. He grimaced. Chump.
“She is?”
Again he nodded. “I think she filed for the divorce because she’s decided she wants to marry the man—though that’s just speculation.”
“Is this true?” Wide-eyed, Miss Hattie looked puzzled.
“I think so.” The divorce would cost Bess her job. If not to remarry, then why do it? She loves her job.
“Well, haven’t you asked her, dear?”
He shrugged. “Only a thousand times—about why she’s divorcing me, that is. Not about the other.” There was no way he could say that twice about her marrying another man without being sick all over Miss Hattie’s kitchen. “She won’t discuss the matter with me.”
“Hmmm, I can’t say I’m surprised. If she’s truly in love with another man—”
“No, Miss Hattie,” he corrected her. “I mean Bess won’t discuss with me why she wants the divorce. It’s very frustrating.”
“Oh.” The old woman nodded, her expression pensive. “Well, I’m sure as certain it is frustrating.” She started rocking and, after a long moment of clearly mulling over the matter, she cocked her head. “Jonathan, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Far be it from me to tell you your own mind, or Bess’s, for that matter . . .”
Realizing she wanted permission to offer her advice, he encouraged her. “Go on, Miss Hattie.”
“Perhaps you should use a little . . . gentle persuasion to get Bess in a more talkative mood, and then ask her again.”
John nearly fell off his chair. “Miss Hattie, are you suggesting that I seduce Bess?”
“Well,” the dear woman shrugged, her face as pink as the geraniums on the front porch, “there are worse ways to find out the truth, dear, you must agree, and you are married to Bess, so I can’t see how this could actually be seduction. It’s more like . . . encouraging. Yes, encouraging. That suits, doesn’t it?”
“Encouraging suits.” Loving her logic, John laughed out loud. “God, you’re a treasure.”
She smiled. “Why, thank you, Jonathan.”
“But even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could seduce Bess. Remember Santos?”
“Ah, her sorry Spaniard.”
John laughed again. “He is that.”
“I’m afraid voices carry in the house.” She lowered her gaze. “I truly wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“I know that, Miss Hattie,” he assured her to rid her of the wrinkle of worry creasing her brow.
“Well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that I think you’re mistake—” Miss Hattie stopped midsentence, stared up at the ceiling as if listening, then changed tactics and smiled. “I’m sure you know best, dear.”
John sipped from a tall glass of ice
d tea. Extra lemon. Tart. It slid down his throat, cool and refreshing, and buried the chump. Bess didn’t care about him and he wouldn’t be suckered into thinking she did or that he could seduce her. She wouldn’t like his new spin on the settlement, that was a given. But if she’d been reasonable and accepted her half, then he wouldn’t have been forced to revert to drastic measures to make sure she didn’t have to rely on anyone else for her needs. She’d be ticked. Furious. But would the drastic measure work?
That remained to be seen. If it did, the hell she was sure to put him through for his trouble would be worth it.
The phone rang.
“It’s for you, dear,” Miss Hattie said, not missing a stitch of her sewing.
How could she identify the caller before answering the phone? On the second ring, John went to the wall beside her, then lifted the receiver. “Seascape Inn.”
“John Mystic, have you lost your mind?”
He stared at Miss Hattie, disconcerted. It was for him. “Selena,” he said into the receiver, “calm down.” Silently, he cursed Bryce. The man hadn’t wasted any time calling her.
“Bryce called at the crack of dawn. I’d have called as soon as the sun was up, but Miguel Santos phoned me, too. So has Francine. In fact, I’ve spent an entire day listening to people bitch and swear you’ve lost your mind, brother dear. I defended you, of course, but if half of what they’re telling me is true, I’m inclined to agree with them.”
“Why?” John leaned against the door casing and stared out the window at the lush lawns. A butterfly was having a field day in Miss Hattie’s peonies.
“Why? You have lost your mind!” Selena drew in a hissed breath that crackled through the phone wires. “You’re suing Bess for—”
Bess walked into the kitchen. Terrific timing. “I asked you to calm down, Selena. Now, I’m telling you to do it. This is my affair and I’ll handle it as I see fit.”
Bess sat down at the table and sipped from his glass of tea. Just like the old days. Every muscle in his chest clenched. And angry because it had, he semi-shouted at Selena. “Don’t you and your partners have enough to do to keep you busy?”
“Enough, John. Leave this alone, okay?” Selena’s voice went soft, pleading. “Bess has made her feelings quite clear. Can’t you just accept it that it’s over and let go?”
He’d promised Elise. Failed her when she’d needed him most. He’d never wanted this damn divorce or to lose Bess. Now he had a second chance. No, he couldn’t “just let go.” The magic was still there. True, that hadn’t been enough to make a successful marriage before, but maybe—. “You’re stepping over the line, Sis.”
“Somebody’s got to keep you from self-destructing. I know you’re still going to the house and parking in the drive. I know you’re still listening to her radio shows, too. You’ve got to move on, John. For you. And you’ve got to let her move on, too.”
Bess dragged a fingertip down his glass. He envied it. She had shadows under her eyes. Beautiful, and worried. But Miss Hattie was wrong. Bess’s worry had nothing to do with him. He was just a piece of paper. She worried about all the trouble and turmoil in her own life. Bess resented turmoil. She probably missed Santos, too. That, John resented. “Take care of your seniors and kids and stuffed bears, Selena, and leave my business to me. And tell Peggy to give the box-hedge snooping a rest.”
Damn. Bess heard him. He thought he’d been talking low enough so that she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t. Her cheeks flushed a dusty rose, nearly the same shade as her silk robe. Wrapped and belted at her waist, it clung to her breasts. In his mind, he saw them bare, peaked, and his stomach flipped. She had no right be so alluring. Sitting there covered neck to heels and still looking sexier than in any teddy she’d ever let caress those lush curves.
“But, John. I’m worried about you. It hasn’t been that long since Elise died, and I know you’re hurting. You’re vulnerable, you know? I don’t want to see you hurt more.”
Selena was worried. He softened his voice. “Look, honey, I’m fine. Really. And I know what I’m doing.”
“Sure as heck doesn’t look like it from here. Suing Bess for—”
“I’ve got to go, Selena. And tell Bryce there’s a thing called attorney/client confidentiality that he’d best start adhering to or I’m going to start losing my sweet disposition.”
Bess sent him a look flatly stating she didn’t think he had a sweet disposition to lose. He frowned at her, and held it so she wouldn’t miss it. She let her gaze roll to the ceiling, and he nearly smiled. He didn’t, of course, but he could have. As soon as he got off the phone and hit Bess with “Settlement Proposal Number Two,” she’d lose that superior smug look.
He could hardly wait.
“Bryce was worried about you, too,” Selena said. “You have to see that this is one crazy stunt you’re pulling, John. If Bryce wasn’t concerned, he wouldn’t be a very good lawyer.”
“Okay, you’re all on record as being officially worried. I’ll talk with you later.”
“John, don’t do this. Do you hear me? Don’t do—”
He hung up the phone. Miss Hattie and Bess were talking softly. The tune on the radio switched from horns to piano, soft and smooth and mellow.
“I’d rather have one of your blueberry muffins. Lucy’s pretty excited about them,” Bess told Miss Hattie. “Is that okay?”
“Of course, dear. Whatever you like.” She nodded toward the counter at the plate of muffins next to the ceramic canisters. “I’ve been a wee bit concerned about your lack of appetite lately, though you don’t look the slightest bit peaked. Do you think she looks peaked, John?”
She looked red as a beet with embarrassment. Bess didn’t like being the focus of attention. Feeling a little contrary because of that “sweet disposition” look she’d laid on him, he studied her slowly, intently, weighing every nuance of her every feature. His body went hard and that reaction he hadn’t anticipated. If the woman wasn’t just so damn beautiful to him.
“No, she doesn’t look peaked.” John slid back into his chair and saw himself taking back his glass of tea, rubbing its rim where Bess’s lips had touched. Hard to tell for sure with her robe—he couldn’t see beyond temptation—but maybe she had lost a couple pounds. Her eyes were shadowed. Her cheeks were a little more hollow, too.
Worry spiked through him, but if he asked, she’d know she still mattered. Couldn’t have that. He’d chump himself and she’d sweet-disposition and mind-your-own-business look him into the next century. Instead, he poured himself a shot of steaming black coffee then returned to his seat and frowned down into a flowered cup far too delicate for his huge hands. Maybe it would cool him off. He must have been crazy, thinking he could assess her without getting hot and bothered. He never had been able to do it. Still, that she might be ill concerned him and, hell to pay for it or not, he had to ask. “Why aren’t you eating? Are you sick, Bess?”
She stilled at the counter, squared her shoulders, then turned to look back at him. “No, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”
Like Santos, the divorce, the settlement, her job. Yeah, John could see it. And as soon as conversation allowed, he’d be adding to her list of worries. That had guilt knocking at his conscience’s door. He ignored it. The only reason he’d sunk so low as to pull this stunt was because she’d left him no choice. He’d see to it that she never had to depend on anyone for her financial needs. That reassurance would compensate for the additional guilt he’d have to lug around. Hell, when you had a heap already, what was one more shovel’s worth? He compromised as best he could to soften the blow. “I don’t like adding to the list, but we need to talk about something.”
She filled a cup with coffee from the pot. Her hand started shaking; coffee sloshed in the carafe. “Fine.”
Giving him a smile as false as her worrying about him, she returned to the table, then sat down. Weak sunlight filtered in through the windows and Bess’s hair looked like spun gold, far too tempting to not wan
t to touch.
The chair legs scraping against the floor sounded gritty and good and reminded him he shouldn’t be thinking these kinds of things about her. At least not until she accepted his proposal.
Would she accept it?
Yeah, she would. He’d box her in if he had to, but she would accept it.
Miss Hattie stuffed her sewing to her bag. “Would you two prefer privacy?”
“No!”
“No!”
Simultaneous reactions. Miss Hattie jerked, then eased back down into her rocker and shifted her gaze uneasily to the ceiling.
John glanced to Bess then back to Miss Hattie. They’d made her uncomfortable and he hated that. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Bess shifted on her chair. “I guess it’s pretty obvious we’d rather not be alone together.”
“Understandable.” Miss Hattie gave them a warm smile that had John feeling even more guilty for startling her. “Divorce is seldom easy. I admire you both for treating each other kindly.” She pulled out her sewing again then counted her stitches. “So often couples want only to hurt each other. It’s such a sad thing, isn’t it? To hurt so much that you want to hurt back?” Her round cheeks tinged pink. “Not that either of you would do that, thank goodness.”
John frowned at the yellow porcelain daffodils in the table’s centerpiece. He’d been looking forward to dropping his bombshell on Bess for a good hour. Now, he couldn’t do it. Not without feeling like a jerk. And Bess was staring at her muffin as if she expected it to burst open and suck her down. Looking as guilty as he felt because in their earlier encounter they both had wanted to hurt each other.
“Kindness is more my style, Miss Hattie.” Bess lifted her gaze to John’s, across the table. “I don’t want to hurt or to cause hurt. I just want peace.”
He didn’t want to hurt her either. Couldn’t she see that? “So do I, Bess.”
Miss Hattie cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should go water my flowers.”