by Carol Voss
He paused and met Keith’s eyes, expecting to see curiosity. But he could swear concern was what he saw. “She’s hanging in there.”
“She’s a good woman. Give her my best.”
“I’ll do that.”
Keith smiled. “And welcome home.”
Tony decided not to enlighten the man on his views about Noah’s Crossing. He strode to Maggie, who was stretching on tiptoe to read the top announcements posted on the bulletin board. She looked about nineteen herself with her copper curls tied back in one of those scrunchie things. He wondered what she’d been like at nineteen.
Where had he been then? Cambodia? Laos? It didn’t really matter. He’d missed out on a lot of her growing up, and he couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t. He stopped behind her and looked at her colorful poster. “Looks good.”
“Thanks.” She waved at Keith. “See you. Tell Stacy hi.”
“Sure thing,” Keith replied.
Tony held the door for Maggie, then walked beside her to the Hog and opened the saddlebag.
She leaned to take out more posters. “I want to put one in Josh’s Service Station and one in the diner. Maybe a few other places, too. Okay?”
“Okay.” He stashed the soda in the saddlebag, latched it and reached for the helmet.
“Let’s walk, okay?”
He didn’t have a burning desire to hobnob with people in town. “I’ll wait here.”
“Oh, come on.” She brushed his arm with her hand. “Walk with me.”
Not having the heart to tell her that strolling up Main Street wasn’t his idea of a good time, he fell in beside her. “Sounds as if this breakfast is a pretty big deal.”
She flashed him a smile. “It is. You’d like it.”
“Breakfast on a farm? Why would I like it?” Glancing over his shoulder at a young boy wheeling toward them on a skateboard, he clasped Maggie’s elbow and guided her off the sidewalk.
“Hey, Maggie, watch this,” the boy yelled, zipping by them balancing on one foot.
“Wow! That’s amazing, Brett,” Maggie yelled back, a laugh in her voice.
She’d so effortlessly made the boy feel important. She obviously loved kids. She had a joy and naturalness about her with them.
She stepped onto the sidewalk and turned her attention to Tony again.
He didn’t seem to know what to do with it. He was having a rough time relating to her on this new level. It was difficult to tease a woman he held in awe. He let out a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. How could he continue to pretend she was the girl he’d left behind when she’d clearly grown way beyond him? Sure, she’d always been way ahead of him, but now, he realized she had a depth of maturity about her that he didn’t know how to deal with.
She peered up at him as they walked. “The breakfast is meant to promote dairy farming, and the proceeds go to funding the youth program at church. It’s fun. The food is great, and everybody comes. You’d see a lot of people you know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And that’s a good thing?”
“Absolutely. You sound like a hermit or something.”
“Or something.”
She greeted and was greeted by people of all ages on their trek down Main Street. From their exchange, you’d think she was related to all of them.
After putting a poster in The Chocolate Nugget, they angled across the small parking lot alongside the new service station with the false front. It was a little too clean, a little too perfect. Tony had been going to the one on the other end of town near the rehab center that really had been there forever.
Maggie waved at the big man in navy pants and shirt near the gas pumps who was cleaning the windshield on an impressive-looking steel-gray Escalade.
Tony admired the vehicle for a minute, the smell of gasoline reassuring. Perfect or not, a filling station was still a filling station.
“Is it okay if I put a poster for the Dairy Breakfast in your window?” Maggie asked the man at the pumps.
“Go ahead. There’s tape in the top right-hand drawer in my desk. Help yourself.” The trust and affection in the man’s tone was there just as it had been in Keith Meyers’s voice.
“Thanks.” She smiled up at Tony. “Do you recognize him?”
Tony studied the man, his movements more familiar than anything else about him. “Josh Craven?”
“Sure is.” Maggie headed for the garage door. “I’ll see you in a couple minutes,” she called over her shoulder.
Looked like Josh was doing well for himself. He and Tony had butted heads for the same positions in sports all through school. Josh hadn’t been any good either. Tony strode over to the pumps.
Josh gave Tony a fleeting frown that ended in a grin. “Tony Stefano. I heard you were back in town.”
Of course he had. Tony shook Josh’s hand. “Looks like you have a thriving operation here.”
“I do okay. Noah’s Crossing is getting a second wind since we were kids,” Josh said.
“Seems that way.”
“You home for long?”
Home again. “A few days.”
“Give me a call. I work a lot of hours, but maybe we can set up a time to get together and catch up.” Josh hurried off to attend to a red Mercedes.
The owners of these late-model cars in town probably lived in those upscale houses on Doc Tilbert’s old farm. As for getting together with Josh, it probably wouldn’t work out. He had only a few more days here.
Maggie walked to meet him, throwing a wave Josh’s way. “Thank you.”
Too bad Tony couldn’t bottle all that sunshine and goodwill and take it back to South America with him. They continued up the street past an empty lot where Tony, Josh and a bunch of guys used to play pickup baseball. The grass was long now. “Kids must have found a better place to play ball.”
“There’s more going on in town. Kids don’t seem to have much time to just hang out anymore.”
“We learned a lot just hanging out.”
“We did, didn’t we?” Maggie gave him a smile. “And we had lots of fun, too.”
He nodded in agreement.
Passing Sarah’s Drugs and Gifts, Maggie held up her poster to the woman who’d just turned the sign in the window over to read Closed.
The woman smiled and pointed to a similar poster in her plateglass window, then held up her hand to indicate they should wait while she hurried to the door, pulled it open and flew down the steps to meet them. “I was about to call you, Maggie.”
“Sarah Taylor, you remember Tony?”
“Sure do.” Sarah smiled. “I saw you in church this morning. Welcome home.”
Whatever. He nodded politely. “Thanks.”
Sarah turned her attention to Maggie. “I wanted to tell you that Senator Benson’s wife stopped in the store today with a woman I didn’t recognize. They were deep in conversation about you and your roses the entire time they shopped. I thought you’d want to know.”
Maggie smiled. “I’m working on a plan for a rose garden for the Bensons. Thanks for the feedback.”
“Sure. Good to see you, Tony.” Sarah turned to her store.
“Same here.” He fell into step alongside Maggie again. They passed the bank, its outrageous architecture sticking out like a sore thumb, and headed for the diner.
Maggie jogged up the steps.
He opened the door for her, then followed her into the hubbub. Apparently, they hadn’t entirely missed dinner hour.
Several tables were empty, but the counter was crowded, customers calling out and waving to them…well, to Maggie. He wanted to turn and wait for her outside, but no doubt, she’d frown on that idea.
The smell of roast beef mixing with delicious
baked goods made his mouth water even though he had already eaten. Della had always made great food. And he had to admit the place was brighter and more lively than it had been when he was a kid.
Della hurried by, a plate of pie in each hand. “Hannah’s in back washing dishes.”
Maggie nodded and held up her poster. “May I put this in your window?”
Della’s jovial, fifty-something face lit up. “It’s beautiful, Maggie. You’re a good artist. I still remember when your mother used to bring you in here with posters you’d made for one of your causes. She was so proud.”
Maggie looked pleased.
“I’ll be right back.” Della hustled away to deliver the plates of pie.
Turning to the counter, Tony’s focus narrowed on broad shoulders in a tan sheriff’s uniform. Sheriff Bunker again. The last person on earth Tony wanted to see, and he’d managed to run into him twice in one day. How lucky could he get?
The sheriff spun his stool and stood, his waistline thicker than it had been, but the officious, I’ve-got-your-number expression was just as blatant as ever. “Tony Stefano.”
“Sheriff.”
Bunker made for the door.
Same old sheriff, much too small a man to make an apology for wrongly accusing him. Tony tried to shrug it off.
“Tony Stefano?”
He turned.
“Clyde Billings from the lumberyard. Welcome home.” Clyde stuck out his hand.
Tony shook it. If he remembered right, Maggie used to call Clyde the Tin Woodman because of his kind heart.
“How’s your grandma?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Good to hear. Tell her hello.”
Tony gave a nod.
“Good to see ya.” Clyde clapped him on the shoulder, turned and walked over to sit at a table.
Della zoomed behind the counter. “I have a fresh raspberry pie left. Stella’s favorite.”
“I’ll take it,” Tony decided.
Della hurried to take a pie from the display case and began wrapping it with experienced hands. “Put your poster right there, Maggie. I’ll tape it in the window by the door so everybody can see it.”
“Thank you.” Maggie set the poster near the cash register.
Tony peeled a twenty from his wallet and laid it on the counter.
Della handed the wrapped pie to him. Giving him a warm smile, she picked up the cash and handed it back. “Tell Stella I said hi and let her know I’m thinking of her.”
He frowned. “I will, but I want to pay for the pie.”
“Keep your money, Tony. I’m just so glad you came home to see your nonna.”
Sweeping the counter with his gaze, he spotted a jar announcing Feed the Hungry. He took the bill from Della’s outstretched hand and plopped it into the jar.
Della’s smile broadened. “A man after my own heart.”
“Thanks for the pie.” He hoped he sounded grateful. Truth was, he was irritated and confused, and he didn’t know why. He opened the door for Maggie, and they headed for the convenience store where they’d left the Harley.
“Can’t accept a gift even when it’s for Stella?” Maggie mused.
“All I ever wanted from this town was a fair shake.”
Maggie stared at him, eyebrows dipping in confusion. “Not following.”
“It’s just that…when I was a kid…” Tony searched for words to describe what he was feeling and came up empty. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“You’re thinking about Sheriff Bunker, aren’t you?”
Tony let out a derisive laugh. “He sure hasn’t changed. He probably still thinks I hit Doc Tilbert on the head and stole his money. Unbelievable.” The memory of those long-ago accusations still made him sick to his stomach. Working for the doctor had made him feel strong, useful, needed. All the things he’d desperately wanted back then. All the things a boy needed to feel.
“He knows you didn’t do it. You know he arrested Danny Judd, don’t you?” Maggie brushed his arm in a comforting gesture.
And it would have been comforting before she forgave him. Now, he couldn’t deny he wanted it to mean more than that. Too bad he’d thrown away that privilege when he’d left town. “Yeah, Nonna told me in her letters.”
Maggie nodded. “The sheriff just doesn’t want to admit he was wrong about you. But the rest of the town never felt that way. You must have picked up how happy they are to see you. Keith and Josh and Clyde. And, of course, Della.”
“But I never wanted handouts.”
“Della didn’t give you a handout. She gave a pie to Stella.”
Of course, Maggie was right. But then why did he still feel this way? Almost as if he was a kid again, dependent on others with no one needing him. Not entirely true. Doc Tilbert had needed him. He shook his head, suddenly conscious of Maggie still watching him with concern in her eyes. “I’m okay.”
“You sure? We can talk about it. Maybe I can help.”
He was about to say he didn’t want her help but bit his tongue. It might be true, but a comment like that would only hurt her. And if he knew anything, he knew she was one person he never wanted to hurt again. “The town sure is fond of you.”
She eyed him as if suspicious of his change of topic, but a smile tweaked the corners of her lips despite her skepticism. “And I’m quite fond of the town.”
“Out of curiosity, is there anybody in Noah’s Crossing you don’t know?”
“I don’t know all the new people.”
“I’ll bet you know a good percentage of them.”
“I’ve done landscaping for a lot of them. And some are active in church. But I have a soft spot for the people who knew my parents. When they talk about my dad’s practical jokes or Mom’s great fudge bottom pie, it helps. I love that so many people remember them.”
“They’ve all adopted you.”
She turned to him, a smile breaking free. “That’s so sweet, Tony. I like that idea.”
“You really belong here.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “So do you.”
“I’ve never belonged anywhere.”
“Have you ever wanted to?”
“Never,” he answered unequivocally. But the hollow feeling in his gut called him a liar.
* * *
The next afternoon, Maggie looked down at the top of Stella’s pink sun hat and carefully maneuvered the wheelchair around a bump in the sidewalk in front of the rehabilitation center. Jim had suggested a short walk in the sunshine might cheer up Stella.
Maggie could use some sunshine herself. She’d been cooped up in meetings with clients and potential new clients all day. But the more contracts she had, the better her chance of meeting her pressing need for money for the house. She needed to take advantage of every avenue open to her. She hesitated, but desperation won out. “Stella, I really think you should consider using the money in the cookie jar to fix the roof.”
Stella shook her head. “I will not live on charity. Not Anthony’s. Nor yours.”
“But it’s not charity. You raised Tony, you took me in, and we’re both very grateful to you. Please let us help.”
“You help me every day, dear. But I don’t want your money or Anthony’s.”
Maggie wasn’t surprised by Stella’s attitude, but it meant she was no closer to figuring out how to get the money she needed. And she wasn’t cheering Stella up either, was she? She scanned her mind to think of a way to do that. Stella always enjoyed hearing about Maggie’s work. “This morning, I met with Senator Benson’s wife. She wants me to design a rose garden for their beautiful new vacation home on Rainbow Lake.”
“A rose garden sounds lovely. I miss my roses.”<
br />
Roses. An even better way to engage Stella. “The Salvatore roses are heavy with buds almost ready to open.”
Stella reached back to pat Maggie’s hand on the wheelchair handle. “Salvatore never knew he had bred the perfect rose, but the one I named for him comes very close to perfection.” Stella sniffed, a sure sign tears were gathering in her eyes. Tears she would deny.
Maggie’s heart swelled with love for her old friend. “The arbor is in full bloom. And the yellow climbers on the front porch are magnificent.”
“My Salvatore’s roses are his heart and mine.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed, an idea beginning to take shape in her mind. Could Stella’s roses possibly be the answer to her money problems? They would sell like hotcakes to a world of rose enthusiasts waiting for the attributes these possessed—especially the Salvatore.
But the roses didn’t belong to Maggie. Before she entertained thoughts of selling them, she needed to feel Stella out. “Did Salvatore ever consider marketing his roses?”
“They made us happy only. I want you to have them, dear. They’re my legacy to you for loving me as a daughter all these years. I had this put in my will.”
Maggie couldn’t think about Stella’s will. She wouldn’t. She stopped the wheelchair. Careful to avoid her friend’s supported leg, she bent and wrapped her arms around Stella’s thin shoulders. “You’re not going to need a will. Not anytime soon.”
“I’m very old, Maggie. Very tired.”
Stella’s words and tone set off an alarm in Maggie’s mind. She needed to help her see the positive again. Give her a reason to hold on. “You need rest. And you have to do your therapy. Then you’ll get healthy and strong enough to work in your gardens again.”
“That would be lovely, dear… .” Stella looked listlessly off to the horizon.
Swallowing her alarm, Maggie kissed her friend’s weathered cheek, straightened and began pushing the wheelchair again. She had to bring Stella home soon.
But she had no right to do that without Tony’s approval, and he would never agree unless she had the house fixed up first. How was she going to get the money she needed for repairs? “Stella…maybe your roses could pay for repairs to the house. Especially the Salvatore. I’ve never seen a rose that compares with its classic floribunda style and constant blooming.”