Return to Heartland: A Heartland Cove County Romance

by Jacquie Gee

  “Oh?” I turn, leaning my back to the rail as well. “As bad as me not approving your cupcakes?”

  “Worse.” He grins, turning his eyes away. “So you didn’t, eh?”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Like my cupcake.”

  “I dunno.” I fidget. “I never did end up tasting it.”

  “Hm,” Trent tuts. “Passing judgment on a man’s cupcake before you’ve even tasted it.”

  I laugh. “The nerve of some women,” I say.

  I may be interpreting this wrong, but I feel something deeper radiating from this conversation, something more heartfelt than just a bout of friendly banter. My heart breaks into a panicked strum. I’m not sure I’m ready for this to go any further. I don’t do relationships well since breaking up with Jebson.

  “So, you seriously don’t miss home? Not ever?” he asks.

  “Oh, I didn’t say that.”

  It seems extremely important to him that I do.

  “I miss certain things. I just prefer New York to Heartland.”

  “Hmm, that’s too bad,” Trent says. He rolls his tongue to one side of his mouth as if skeptically assessing some secret situation.

  “What do you care?”

  “Oh, I don’t.” He rubs his chin. “Just making conversation.”

  Clearly, there is a reason he’s asked.

  “You don’t ever yearn to come back here, away from all the hustle and bustle of the big city?” he tries again.

  “No, I don’t," I say, which isn't exactly true, but he doesn't need to know that. I often yearn for the quiet of this place, but that’s all I yearn for, just the quiet… and my mother, of course, nothing else. "There's a saying that goes like this.” I turn to him, still clutching the railing. “‘Don’t look back because that’s not where you’re going.’ That’s how I choose to live my life.”

  “Clever.” He smiles and takes a sip his coffee. “Those are some pretty definitive words, though. You’re never tempted to look over your shoulder?”

  “No. Why should I? The future is all that matters. The past is not worth paying attention to.”

  “I’m hoping you mean, personal past, not the real one.”

  “No, I mean both of them.”

  “Really?” Trent drags his hand down his chin. “So, you don’t feel the need to preserve the old, only in with the new.” He stretches a hand out to the surroundings.

  “No. To me, this is all just a waste of time. I don’t believe in wasting your life dwelling on things that can’t be changed.”

  “So, you’d change it then?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Really, what would you do?”

  “Update everything.”

  “So, you think the future is the only place where there’s opportunity?”

  “If you think there's opportunity here, you're nuts." I scowl his way. "I've lived here, remember? Born and raised."

  “So you don’t see anything here worth keeping.”

  I scan the place. “Nope.”

  “Not even this old bridge?”

  “Especially this old bridge.”

  “See, I think you’re wrong.” He stretches his legs out and crosses them. “I think there’s opportunity everywhere, in the past, present, and future. I’m a firm believer in preserving the past so we can learn from it, to better the future.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?”

  “There’s no other way, or we keep making the same mistakes.” He nods. “Lose sight of the past and the future’s a blur.”

  "I disagree." I bring my coffee to my lips. "I think what’s done is done, what’s over is over, and it’s healthiest to forget and move on.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds to me like someone’s been burned pretty badly.” He turns, bellying up to the rail again.

  “And why do you say that? Just because I’m a woman not willing to wallow in the past?”

  “Wallow.” He drinks. “That’s a pretty strong word.”

  “Is there a point to this conversation?” I feel myself getting heated.

  “No, not really.” He looks to me. “It’s just— I guess I just don’t see things as black and white as you do. I mean, take this town, for instance,” he adds quickly when he sees me flinch. “It’s clearly a place steeped in history, but at the same time, it’s so full of progressive-minded people.”

  I choke on my coffee. “You think Heartland Cove is full of progressive-minded people?”

  “Yeah. Some of the best I’ve ever known.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No.”

  “You need to go a few more places.” I scowl. That’s the last word on earth I’d use to describe Heartland Cove.

  “Take your own mother for instance.” Trent turns.

  “My mother?”

  “Yep. Without her forward-thinking mind, there’d be no bus tours.”

  “I heard about that.”

  “She fought hard to bring them to Heartland Cove. Devised a whole marketing campaign around it just to win the tour bus company over. It was quite the thing. You should have seen it.”

  “My mother created a campaign?”

  “Oh, yeah, and an amazing one.”

  I raise a brow.

  “I see her as the very epitome of the innovative preservation movement ’round here.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, along with a few others. Take, for instance, Marigold Matthews up on the hill.” He points. “Turned her family’s old farm into an organic money maker. She grows rare, edible organic flowers and ships them to fancy restaurants in New York.”

  “She doesn’t!”

  “Mm-hm. Two shipments a week. I buy some meself.”

  I’m astounded. “People ’round here like that sort of thing?”

  “No, not much. They just throw them out. But I think they make the plates look pretty.”

  I chuckle.

  “Besides, they’ll come around.”

  “Will they now?” This man is nothing if not delusional.

  “Then there’s Ava Simmons up at the Heartbeat Inn, with her innovative wedding destination packages. Have you heard about those?”

  “I have—”

  “Married a couple here last month from Malaysia.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I stare.

  “Nope. Even Sal of Sal’s Burgers has gotten himself a handheld credit card machine.”

  “Has he?” I tap the side of my mug. “How very year-two-thousands of him.”

  Trent scowls. “Point being, this place is a great example of how to preserve the past while still moving into the future.” He lifts a dramatic hand to make his point.

  “You sound quite invested in this little mecca.”

  “I am.” He nods. “Dedicated to this town and its future.” He raises his cup to that.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m opposed, it’s just I’ve got things waiting for me back in New York. So, all the more power to you.” I waggle my head.

  “Oh, you do? Like what?” He looks worried, which is strange.

  I cock my chin and lift my eyes. “I own a nice little shop on a side street—well… really it’s in an alley, but it’s in a prominent borough of New York City, that’s what.”

  “That’s it?” He looks oddly relieved

  “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? Not many thirty-three-year-olds can boast that they co-own a thriving, trendy, New York downtown business?” I scrunch my brow. "That is turning quite the profit as of late, by the way,” I add, tossing him a smug look.

  “Thirty-three, huh?”

  That’s it? That’s all he heard? That’s all he’s taking from the conversation?

  “That’s right. How old are you?” Not that I care. Much.

  “Older.” He sips his coffee.

  “How much older?” Sly guy.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He smirks and turns his eyes away. “It’s not like we’re gonna to be friends, what with your value syst
em.”

  I punch his shoulder lightly.

  “What do you sell in that shop of yours, anyway?” He craftily avoids another subject. His eyes are on the river as he taps his mug.

  “I make and sell cupcakes,” I tell him proudly.

  “Oh, now I get why the cupcake snobbery.” He glances into my eyes and grins.

  “Well, you know, it is in my blood.”

  “I guess that means we’re both in food.” He shifts his gaze back onto the river. “Though I’d hardly call what you make, ‘food.’”

  I swat him again. “Neither would I.” I run a provocative finger around the rim of my cup. “It’s more of a dirty pleasure.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He looks over, shocked.

  “I neglected to tell you something.” I look sheepishly up from my cup. “We also sell edible panties.”

  “You what?”

  “You heard me. We make panties that you, you know, can be eaten. Under certain circumstances.” I flirt with my eyebrows. “Panties and matching cupcakes, for both women and men.”

  The shock on his face is endearing. He snaps his gaze away. “These cupcakes and matching panties—do they bring in a lot of money?”

  “It’s a lucrative enough business,” I say, feeling I’m glowing the brightest red I ever have.

  “I see.” He dons me a cheeky smile. “And do you have occasion to… test your products from time to time?”

  I punch him hard this time.

  “What? It’s a legitimate question!” He rubs the spot I’ve hit. “Wait a minute, we? You said, we. Who’s we?” He looks strangely worried.

  “My business partner, Tia. She’s my best friend and roommate in New York.”

  “Oh…I see.” His head falls back. He looks oddly relieved. “You two aren’t…?” His brows dart up and down.

  “Excuse me?” I purse my lips and lower my chin. Why does everyone automatically assume ‘two women partners’ means ‘two women as partners’ these days? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

  Trent lets his gaze wander off me and back onto the bay. “So, you seriously never miss this place. Not a single thing about it.” He changes the subject back.

  “I miss my mom, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He sighs heavily. “Yeah, I miss mine too.” His gaze has become terribly serious, and his cheeks turn red like he’s let out information he didn’t mean to. I get the sense he’s not telling me something else, as well, as he becomes visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. I know I shouldn't ask, but Tia's not here to stop me.

  “What brought you here anyway?” His back stiffens. “I mean, who moves from sunny Australia to a place that spends eight months a year under cover of snow?”

  “Me.” He grins.

  “Yeah, but why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He stalls. Fidgets. He’s avoiding again. “Small town with a beach. Nice harbor. Friendly people. Who wouldn’t come?”

  “Overly friendly people, you mean.”

  “Yeah, there’s that.” He nods. “But mostly, I admire how isolated it is out here.”

  “Isolated? You like isolation?” Who does that?

  He looks hard at me as if to say ‘leave it alone, will you?’ and draws in a long sip of his coffee. “Well, it’s been wonderful chatting with you.” He pats the rail. “But I’ve monkey bread to tend to. Don’t want it to burn.” He pushes back quickly with both hands and is away before I can get words out of my mouth.

  I believe I’ve struck a nerve.

  “Thanks for the conversation!” I call after him.

  He tips his mug in my direction as he walks. “The most sparkling bit of exchange we’ve shared yet, I’d say.” His whole face grins. “You have a good day, now. Try not to get yourself tossed out of anywhere.”

  “Ha. Ha.” I smirk. “Hey, Trent,” I holler, catching him just before he hits the steps.

  “Yeah?” He turns.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “Prying.” I twist my hands around my cup. “Sometimes I just don’t know when to stop. Okay, lie. Most of the time I don’t know when to stop, and Tia’s not here to, like, give me the sign so…”

  “Tia’s your filter, is she? I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe sometime I’ll teach you how to make a real cupcake, too.”

  “Oh, I’ve struck a nerve.”

  I guess we’re even.

  “You do that.” He tips his cap, which miraculously, he’s wearing on his head the right way today. First time ever. “Until then. Monkey bread.” He dashes up the step to the house. “Oh, and Becca,” He stops at the top. “Your mother’ll likely wake up as a different person today. Her spells of confusion seem to come and go. She once beat me right red with a broom and the next day woke up and baked me a lemon pie.” He chuckles. “You just have to learn to go with it. We all have.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  He smiles and slips over the threshold, leaving the screen to bang slowly silent.

  A gentle breeze kicks up off the river, bringing the salty scent of the ocean up from the bay, conjuring thoughts of a younger version of myself chasing green crabs along the water's shallow edge, my father, frolicking with me—he so loved this place.

  How he would have loved Trent.

  Chapter 21

  The sound of brakes cuts the silence. The bus is here. I check my watch: nine-thirty-five. Right on schedule.

  The door of the bus swings open and tourists pour out. I watch from Mom’s open upstairs window. “This is Heartbeat Bridge, the pride of Heartland Cove.”

  Oh, that’s a nice touch.

  “The second-longest, oldest, covered bridge still in operation in all of North America,” the bus driver announces in English, then Mandarin.

  Aunt Penny appears on the back porch of her apartment, looking frantic, dishrag in her hand. She wearily moves a piece of hair from her eyes and glances up at the window of the apartment as if to say, ‘will you help me?’

  “Coming!” I pick my coffee up off the sill and lunge toward the stairs.

  “Are you okay to finish tidying up the store on your own?” I ask Aunt Penny, tossing my third bag of garbage into the dumpster. She looks frazzled at best, and I feel instantly guilty for even asking the question, but I have a few things I need to do. “I was hoping to head up the road to Clachan, to the courthouse, to see if I can get some time with the judge, before this pre-hearing I’ve been subpoenaed to today. I feel like I need to get a better handle on what’s going on with these so-called charges, and with Mom.” I need to know what, if anything, has been filed against her and what it all means. Not to mention, to clear up what Trent’s started.

  Though I’m thankful for his quick thinking.

  Clearly, something had to be done about it, so he did.

  At the very least, I need to follow up with her doctor.

  “I’ll be fine. Just fine. You go on ahead.” Aunt Penny exhales, heaving her last bag of garbage up over the dumpster rail. It lands with a crash, and a thud, and then she hugs me. “You go ahead, dear.” She dusts off her hands. “Your mom and I will manage. But beware.” She walks up, stabbing her garbage poke into the ground at my feet. “That judge is long in the tooth and short on compassion.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle him.”

  "But Your Honor—"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lane, but I cannot continue with this circus. Either your mother's incompetent, or she’s not. Which is it?"

  I had no luck getting him to listen to me before the preliminary hearing, and I’m having no luck now. I look across the room at Jebson who’s smiling wiry, and his lawyer wears the same coy expression. I can't throw mom under the bus like this, not without further investigation. I don’t know if she’s heading toward incompetency or not. I couldn’t get into see the doctor before this. But I also can't continue on like this in court, all ambiguous and ignorant. “It’s just that, your Honor�
� I haven’t been home long enough to know exactly what’s been —”

  “And yet you stand before me, asking me to continue a stay.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean… I know what’s going on with the case, sir. I just—my mother—I don’t know—”

  "What are you saying, Miss Lane?” He scrunches up his brow. “Are you implying that your mother has pulled a fast one on this court! That she is not suffering from what she and her companion here in court, claimed the other day?”

  “No, sir, no, not at all—”

  “If I find out she’s held these proceedings up for no good reason, stood before me and told an untruth—" His voice rises.

  “No, sir. She hasn’t.” I lower my head and roll my hands. At least, not willingly.

  “So again, I ask you, are you stepping in as legal guardian?”

  I hang my head. "I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure if she needs one at this time, sir.”

  Jebson fixes his tie.

  "Then I’m afraid I have no choice at this time but to lift the stay and carry on with these proceedings—”

  "No sir, please don't do that."

  “Why not? Can you give a good reason, not?” He glares down at me. “Just what would you have me do, Miss Lane? Do tell.”

  “Your Honor, it's just that, I just got here and…”

  “You’ve established that.”

  My hands are shaking. “It's just that—my mother, you see—I don’t know where she stands."

  "It’s not that difficult. It’s rather straightforward, actually. Has your mother been declared incompetent by the medical society, or has she not?”

  I mull over my options, both of which are pathetic. I either tell him the truth and see my mother punished for lying, or I choose incompetency and see her labeled for life. But then I’ll have to produce medical notes to prove it which I don’t have yet. We desperately need this stay on this tax matter to remain in place until I can figure out what the hey is going on. If it gets lifted, and Jebson gets his way, I’ve no idea how Mother’ll pay. "I have reason to believe—"

  "Reason to believe is not fact, Miss Lane. It is not admissible in this hearing!" he booms. "Now, for the last time, has your mother been declared incompetent by a doctor, or not?"