by Cindy Kirk
“What do you mean you don’t like Mexican hot chocolate?” Amity looked at Dan as if he’d suddenly grown horns.
“Chili pepper belongs in chili,” he insisted. “Not in cocoa.”
The two had been sparring since they’d met up in front of the church. It was really quite cute. Hope hid a smile and pretended to refocus on the parade.
The parade down Market Street was typical for a small town. There were eight or ten decorated tractors that would later be competing in the “best-dressed” tractor competition, several antique cars, a couple of clowns tossing candy to the kids.
“There’s the queen,” Hope announced, gesturing to a Chevy 4×4 pulling a flatbed trailer. The Harvest queen sat on bales of hay, surrounded by her court.
The queen was always a senior at the local high school, so the pretty blonde couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. Staring at her, Hope couldn’t believe she’d been married at that age.
Amity cast the girl an appraising glance. “She’s cute.”
“Not as cute as you.”
Dan’s comment appeared to render Amity momentarily speechless.
Amity had obviously decided to go cowgirl for the evening. She wore a western-cut shirt with pearl snaps, tight Wrangler jeans, and cowboy boots with a swath of teal across the sides. Her dark, messy hair had been pulled back in a flouncy tail, which oddly suited her just as well as the boho-chic attire she normally preferred.
“That should have been you in high school,” John murmured.
Hope looked at him in surprise. “Who?”
“The Harvest queen. Back in high school you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Dan and Amity exchange a quick, significant glance.
Heat rose up Hope’s neck. “Yeah, right.”
“You still are,” John said earnestly.
“Well, thank you.”
“The dance won’t start until seven,” Dan remarked as the last antique car drove past. “Anyone interested in walking through the Arts and Crafts tent?”
Amity’s hand shot up in the air. “If there’s food, count me in. Especially if they have pumpkin sage polenta.”
Dan grimaced at the mere thought of the dish. “Who are you?”
“Amity Carter.” Amity’s expression was solemn but her eyes danced. “I’m surprised you can be an effective minister if you have such difficulty with names.”
Hope tried not to laugh at Dan’s perplexed expression. “I want a pumpkin scone.”
John looped an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the tent. “Give me a caramel apple over a scone any day.”
For a second Hope almost stepped away from him, then she remembered there was no need to keep her distance. With Chet, any public display of affection had been strictly verboten. Which was fine with her because she hadn’t really been attracted to him physically. John’s closeness made her feel all warm and tingly inside.
Since the temperature outside had dipped into the forties and the tent was heated, the aisles were packed with people. Hope soon lost sight of Amity and Dan in the crowd but knew their paths would cross again eventually.
John picked up caramel-apple bites at one booth and Hope got her pumpkin scone at another. She’d eaten about half of it when they paused at a small booth with stunning black-and-white photographs.
“Ty,” John said when a broad-shouldered man with a thatch of brown hair asked if he could help them. He extended his hand. “It’s John Burke. And, of course, you know Hope Prentiss.”
“I was glad to hear you were back.” Ty Rowen shook John’s hand, then he turned to Hope. “And I swear you get prettier every time I see you.”
Though the smile remained on his lips, Hope could feel John stiffen beside her at the warmth in Ty’s voice.
“How’s Katie?” she asked.
“Doing well.” Ty grinned at John. “My wife and I are expecting our first child this summer.”
“Congratulations.” John’s shoulders seemed to relax and he gestured to the pictures. “These are fantastic.”
“Thanks. Photography is my thing. I feel blessed to be able to make a living doing something I love.” Ty turned to Hope. “I spoke with your aunt yesterday. I’ll be taking wedding photos at your place in December. I’m not sure who’s getting hitched. Verna was kind of vague about the details but we locked down the date and time.”
“It’s going to be a small ceremony.” Hope thought about mentioning Luke and Laura’s names but she knew Ty’s mother had been a big General Hospital fan. She didn’t feel like hearing the jokes just now.
They chatted with Ty for a few more minutes, with John buying a photograph that Hope admired of McGown Peak over Stanley Lake. She and John had once talked of camping in that area. Perhaps now they’d get the chance.
“I’ll carry it.” John lifted the protective container from the counter. “But the photo is yours to keep.”
“You didn’t need to buy it for me,” Hope said. She’d seen the price and couldn’t justify spending the money on such a luxury.
“While I like making you happy, I admit I have an ulterior motive,” John said with a wicked smile. “I’m hoping every time you look at it, you’ll think of me . . . fondly.”
“I will.” Hope threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you.”
When she released him, he grinned and rocked back on his heels.
“I’m sorry.” Hope felt her face redden as she caught a couple of people staring. “I probably shouldn’t do that with everyone around.”
“Darlin’,” he slung an arm over her shoulder. “Let me make something perfectly clear. You can kiss me anytime, anywhere.”
The next month flew by. John saw Hope every day. Their intimacy remained confined to good-night kisses. Though she still refused to sleep with him or say she loved him, he felt them growing closer. They spent hours sitting in front of the fire talking about what their lives had been like the past ten years and sharing future dreams.
“I don’t understand why you work so much. If you’re not on your laptop doing payroll, you’re busy with Harmony Creek stuff,” John told her one evening in early November as they sat on his living room sofa, a blazing fire in the hearth. Outside, two inches of fluffy white snow blanketed the lawn. The onset of cold weather apparently made Hope think of tax season. Only seconds earlier she’d mentioned again how much she dreaded its start. “I’d think working for Verna and doing payroll for the banks would keep you busy enough. You can’t need the money. Especially when you factor in my income.”
They may not have combined their assets yet, but John wanted to reinforce that they were a team and whatever he had was hers.
Because his arm was around her shoulders, he felt her stiffen.
“I have a strong work ethic.” She lifted her chin, the gesture warning him this was a hot spot for her. “People think they have all this money, then it’s gone and they’re left with nothing.”
John carefully considered his response. Several weeks ago, during a late-night discussion, Hope had mentioned that her parents had spent money they didn’t have and were deeply in debt when they died. Because her voice had begun to shake at the memory, he hadn’t pushed for details. Still, it was clear their spending habits had profoundly impacted her attitude toward money.
“If you continue to work all those jobs”—he spoke slowly, keeping his tone conversational—“how will you have time for what’s really important?”
Hope’s head snapped back. Her scowl warned that once again he’d hit a nerve. “Are you complaining?”
“I’m saying—”
“Because when you got a sudden urge to go for pizza at three o’clock today, I went with you.” Hope shoved aside the cotton throw he’d draped across her lap moments earlier when she’d complained of being cold. “We both should have been working.”
John raised a brow.
“Responsible people work. They pa
y bills on time. They put money away for a rainy day.”
“Responsible people also take time for those who are important in their life,” he said mildly. “One of the benefits of being your own boss is you set your own hours. If I’m not hungry when lunchtime rolls around or I’m in the middle of creating something, I keep working. Conversely, if I want to take a midafternoon break, that’s my privilege. I don’t see why it should be any different for you.”
“We’re not talking about me.” Two bright swaths of red cut across her cheeks. “We’re talking about you.”
“Okay.” John shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s talk about me.”
“I have serious concerns about your work habits and how you handle your money.”
His cheek stung as if she’d slapped him hard. Despite everything they’d shared in the last weeks, it appeared Hope still didn’t trust him to be a responsible partner. The only consolation was he now understood why she’d been unwilling to fully commit to him and their marriage.
“Let’s start with work habits. I’ve never been late with a project.” John met her gaze steadily. “I may not work eight to five Monday through Friday, but creating art is different than a typical day job. When a design is percolating in my brain, sometimes performing mundane duties around the house or going for pizza helps me get clarity.”
“I suppose I can see that,” she grudgingly admitted.
Hardly a ringing endorsement. John rubbed his neck. It was time to get to the bottom of the deeper issue looming between them. “Tell me why you believe I’m not good with money.”
She squirmed under his penetrating gaze.
“One example.” His voice sounded flat, even to his ears.
“Okay.” Hope surged to her feet and blew out a breath. “Today at the pizza place.”
John cocked his head, puzzled by her return to a subject they’d just discussed.
“You gave the waitress a huge tip.” She began to pace. “The rule is fifteen percent unless the service is stellar, then bump it to twenty percent. Our service was mediocre at best. I saw what you left her.”
Her accusatory tone rubbed like a pair of too-tight shoes. An image of the gray-haired waitress with tired eyes flashed before him. “I left twenty dollars. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.”
“She didn’t deserve that much.” Hope tossed the judgment out there, coupling the careless words with an equally careless shrug.
John thought of his mother and the long hours she’d spent on her feet in a similar café. After his dad took off, her tips often made the difference between eating or not. He recalled her joy when someone left more than she expected and likely more than she deserved.
He set his jaw and held on to his temper. “Who are you to say what someone deserves or doesn’t deserve?”
The quiet vehemence in his tone had her eyes widening.
“I may not know everything,” she insisted stubbornly, “but I know money. I’m telling you right now, I won’t be with someone who plays fast and loose with it.”
The words hung in the air.
The implication snaked around his heart, compressing it like a tight, unyielding cobra. She wasn’t threatening to end their marriage because of a generous tip; she was using the incident as an excuse to push him away.
Facts didn’t matter.
He didn’t matter.
John’s anger re-fired on all circuits. “You think you have all the answers, but you don’t. You—”
The loud ring of her phone cut off his words. To his surprise, she took the call.
Hope listened for a second. “We’ll be right there.”
When she turned to him, her face was as white as her shirt. “It’s Verna. She’s fallen.”
Dr. Eli Webster put a hand on Hope’s arm, but addressed his comments to both her and John. “Your aunt sustained an intramuscular bruise to her left shoulder. Otherwise, she’s fit and healthy, which is a good thing.”
John blew out a breath. “What do we need to do for the bruise?”
He took charge, just as he had when they’d first responded to Verna’s call. When Hope had seen her aunt sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, laundry scattered everywhere, John had been the one to spring into action. After a quick assessment, he’d made the decision to call Verna’s local physician instead of taking her to the emergency room in Boise.
Hope had no doubt they’d still be sitting in some overcrowded ER waiting for Verna to be seen. Dr. Webster’s son Eli had arrived minutes after the call, black bag in hand. They’d gone to high school with him. Currently in the process of finishing his residency, he told them he planned to return to Harmony next summer to join his father’s practice.
“Apply ice to the front and back of the shoulder for ten minutes. Remove it for thirty minutes, then put it back on for ten,” Eli told them. “That will help with the swelling in the first twenty-four hours. Keep the injured shoulder elevated above the heart, including when she’s sleeping.”
“What about pain?” Hope asked.
“Pain? What pain?” Eli’s lips twitched, making him look like the mischievous young boy he’d once been. “She looks pretty doggone happy to me.”
Hope felt her cheeks warm. “After we’d gotten her comfortable and John pulled out his phone to call you, she asked for her purse and a glass of water. I thought she was taking a couple of Advil. Before I could stop her, she’d swallowed one of those narcotic tablets her dentist had given her after her oral surgery last week.”
“I believe that level of pain management is a bit excessive.” Eli grinned. “Tylenol or Advil every four hours should be more than adequate for the injury she sustained.”
John extended his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“My dad will be sorry he missed tending to Verna. She’s a favorite.”
“Where is he?” Hope asked.
Eli had mentioned earlier that his father was out of town and he was covering for him.
“He and my mother are on a cruise. I’m filling in until they return on Saturday.” Eli’s gaze shifted between her and John. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any concerns.”
Hope threw her arms around him in a heartfelt hug. “Thank you.”
“It was good to see you again.” Eli’s gaze encompassed the two of them. “Once things settle down, let’s set a time to meet up at the Thirsty Buffalo. It’ll give us an opportunity to catch up.”
“I’d like that,” John said.
Hope let a simple smile be her answer.
Minutes later, she and John stood in the open doorway, shoulder-to-shoulder, silently watching the taillights of Eli’s Prius disappear from view. Before John even shut the door, tension rushed in like a tsunami, adding a stifling weight to the air. Hope could only hope John would set aside their personal issues for now so they could focus on Verna.
She got her wish. Without speaking, John followed her up the stairs. Verna looked old, frail, and as white as the sheets of her canopied bed. Still, her eyes flashed open when they entered the room.
The rueful smile that touched her aunt’s lips was like a balm to Hope’s frightened spirit. She quickly moved to the bedside and clasped Verna’s hand. “You gave us quite a scare.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I was trying to get all the laundry put away before I got ready for the Chamber of Commerce ceremony at seven.” Verna’s forehead puckered into a frown. “What time is it anyway?”
Hope glanced at the old-fashioned bedside clock. “Six thirty.”
“One of you has to attend the meeting.” Verna’s voice held an edge of panic. “Harmony Creek is getting the Horizon award. Someone has to be there to accept.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” John reached over and calmly repositioned the ice bag.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Hope said softly.
Verna’s desperate gaze swung to John and she struggled to sit up. Despite the narcotic’s influence, she was becoming a
gitated.
“I’ll go.” John answered the question in her eyes, stroking her arm in a soothing gesture. “If it means that much to you, I’m happy to attend.”
“Thank you. You’re a good boy.” Verna collapsed back into the pillow. Though her pale blue eyes remained half open, they slowly lost focus and turned cloudy.
“Rest.” John brushed back a strand of hair from her face, then kissed her wrinkled cheek. “I’ll be back soon with the award in hand.”
“My Tommy,” Verna murmured. “He was so like you.”
It was high praise indeed. Verna rarely spoke of the fiancé who’d gone off to war and had never come back.
“I loved him so much.” Her aunt’s fingers tightened around Hope’s hand as her voice broke. “We didn’t get a second chance. Vietnam didn’t give second chances.”
“It’s okay.” Hope’s heart ached at the pain in Verna’s voice. “Sleep now.”
“But the Lord didn’t forsake me. I’d always wanted children. After Tommy . . . I never thought I’d have a child. No husband. No child. Then God sent me you and John . . . such a great gift.” Verna was rambling now, her words slurred from the narcotic. “That’s why . . . I only want you to have . . . forgive me for meddling.”
Hope shot John a questioning glance. When he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, she looked back at her aunt. Verna’s eyes had fully closed and her breathing was slow and steady.
“You better go,” she told John, glancing once again at the clock. “The ceremony will begin in twenty minutes.”
“Call if you need anything.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “As soon as the awards are presented, I’ll cut out and head back.”
“Don’t rush.” Hope lifted a hand in a dismissive wave. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Actually she wished he wouldn’t hurry back. She needed to sort through her tumbled thoughts, bring some order to them, then plan where they went from here.
“Hope.”
She looked up and found him staring. His blue eyes were clear and very blue. A sudden look of tenderness crossed his face. “Verna will be okay.”