She started to speak but quickly changed her mind. She didn’t know how to soften when she was determined to stay angry with him. She didn’t know how to melt in his arms and say thank you because she did believe in herself now. She’d rediscovered who she was, without the mask, without the strangling need to please everyone around her. She’d discovered she didn’t need to compromise anymore. She could make decisions for herself.
She was happy and more herself than she had been in years. The fact that Whit was partially responsible for that didn’t make it less true.
So why did she stand there like a stubborn child, unwilling to relent?
Because she couldn’t bear the thought of needing someone like that ever again.
“Good-bye, Whit,” she said, unmoving.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched her as if trying to determine if there was anything left between them.
And as she turned and walked out of the wood shop—out of his life—she had the undeniable feeling that she’d just used up her last chance with Trevor Whitney.
CHAPTER
47
AS EVELYN SPED AWAY from Whitney Farms, tears stung her eyes.
What was wrong with her? She’d just thrown away the only good relationship she’d ever had because she couldn’t forgive Trevor. He’d forgiven her for choosing Christopher, for turning into an unrecognizable person, for taking advantage of his goodness, for throwing herself at him in a moment of drunken weakness, and finally for breaking his heart.
She had, hadn’t she? She could see the pain of a broken heart in his eyes. Trevor wasn’t the same man he’d been a few months ago, and she was to blame.
She drove to town and stopped in front of the museum, where their hearts were still on display. Inside, she headed straight to the exhibit where the story of the Loves Park painted hearts was told by way of an overhead speaker and a not-so-professional voice-over.
Evelyn stared at the hearts she’d painted. Lyrics to a song that had come to mean so much to Trevor—but that she’d failed to recognize until recently. How little attention she’d paid, and yet he cared enough to remember each year.
“What I wouldn’t give for Barry to love me like that,” a lady standing a few yards away said to the woman beside her.
“Men like this don’t exist, Shirley,” the other woman said. “I think the city made it up as some kind of brilliant tourism scheme.”
“Quit ruining the romance, Mary Sue. Just because our husbands would never do it doesn’t mean no one would.”
Mary Sue waved her off. “Fantasy.”
“It’s not fantasy,” Evelyn said quietly.
“Pardon me?” The one named Shirley turned to her. “Did you say something?”
Evelyn stared at the hearts. Trevor had given everything for her—for nothing but heartache in return. “It does exist. He does exist.”
The women laughed. “Well, do you want to give him our numbers?”
Evelyn brushed away a tear. “Not a chance, ladies,” she said.
She found the museum manager, an old woman named Joan who bounced when she walked.
“I have a favor,” Evelyn said, apparently getting a knack for this asking-for-help thing. “I’d like to borrow the hearts.”
Joan’s thin eyebrows crumpled. “You mean you want to take them out of the museum?”
“Yes, but I’ll return them, I promise.”
Joan tilted her head as if contemplating. “Fine. You are their creator. I suppose it would be silly for me to tell you no.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Evelyn smiled. “I’ll get them later today. First, I have some painting to do.”
Trevor had one plan for Valentine’s Day. Get out of town. He’d arranged for Lilian and Dale to handle everything on the farm for a few days, and he planned a long weekend of doing a whole lot of nothing but being away from the romance mess that was his hometown.
After his final run-in with Evelyn, he guessed he had his answer. He’d asked God to be clear, and the Lord appeared to have answered. In spades. So far every decision he’d made concerning Evelyn seemed to be the wrong one.
And he was tired of caring so much.
He threw his clothes in a duffel bag, filled his thermos with coffee, and hauled his gear out to the truck. He hadn’t been camping in ages. Too busy with the farm and the woodworking. But he needed to clear his head, and nothing would do that like the great outdoors.
As he finished loading up the truck, Lilian’s car sped around the bend and came to a stop beside him. “Have you been out there?” She looked panicked.
“What’s the matter—has Loves Park exploded into a pile of love dust?”
She glared at him. “Whit. This is serious.”
“What is it?”
“Just drive into town. You need to see it for yourself.”
“No, I don’t,” Trevor said. “I’m going out of town before this place sucks me into all of its Valentine’s Day madness.” The last thing he needed was a reminder of what he didn’t have.
She stood in front of him and put her hands on his arm. “Trevor. This is important.”
He took a step back. “All right, now you’re starting to worry me. Is everything okay?”
“Just go.”
He huffed as he got behind the wheel of his truck. “I’ll be back.”
He pulled out of the driveway, mind spinning with the possibilities of what could have Lilian so rattled. Last time she’d been this worked up, Evelyn’s home was being invaded by the government.
He flipped on the radio and a familiar tune filled the cab of the truck.
“The very thought of you and I forget to do . . .”
No. Way. What were the odds that this of all songs was on the radio at that precise moment? He glanced down and discovered it wasn’t the radio at all. It was a CD. He popped it out and looked at it.
Someone had drawn a single heart on the front of it in thick black marker.
Were they mocking him?
He turned his attention back to the road, but something else quickly stole it again. Ahead, on a telephone pole along this old country road, was a painted heart.
The hearts were only hung on Main Street. How had this one gotten all the way out here? He slowed down.
Not just any heart—one of Evelyn’s hearts. One of the hearts she’d painted with the lyrics before she’d discovered the truth.
As he drove, he counted six, seven, eight, nine hearts, all attached to the telephone poles on one of the most rural roads in Loves Park.
The tenth and final heart came into view.
Who had done this? And more importantly—why?
Some sort of cruel joke to remind him of how he’d screwed everything up?
He continued toward town. He’d go to the museum and find out why the hearts were no longer on display. He’d demand they be taken down so he didn’t have to be tortured by their existence anymore. He didn’t need the reminder of all he’d lost.
Even if he never really had it in the first place.
But as he reached the final stop sign before Main Street, a different image caught his eye.
She wore a puffy turquoise ski coat, skinny jeans, and gray boots. A multicolored stocking cap covered her head, leaving her long blonde hair flowing out the bottom. She looked like something out of a dream.
He slowed the truck to a stop on the side of the road. She seemed . . . hopeful.
In her hands, she held an eleventh heart. Identical to the others, but the final words of the song had been painted on this one.
It’s just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love
He stared at her for several seconds, unsure of how or why she’d done this. He’d lost her, hadn’t he? The second she walked out of the wood shop, he’d given up—once and for all.
He turned off the engine and got out of the truck, walking toward her.
She appeared to have a difficult time holding his gaze.
&nb
sp; “Nice heart,” he said.
She smiled. “You weren’t going to leave the song unfinished, were you?”
He glanced away.
“I thought it was time for me to meet you halfway.”
He had no reply.
“You’ve always been there for me. Always. It’s time I was there for you in return.”
“How did you do all this?” Trevor waved his hand in the direction of all the other hearts.
“I’m the artist in residence of Loves Park,” she said. “I have a lot of pull.”
He laughed. “Good to know.”
“Besides, I wanted to make a point.”
“That you’re crazy?”
“That I love you.”
The words floated there, full of promise and begging his attention, but he couldn’t believe them. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times, yet now that it was here, it felt surreal. Like a dream.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked. The admission had exposed her. He understood that risk, and he knew how difficult this must be for her. Probably the kind of admission she didn’t want to make, but there she stood—her heart literally on the line.
“I did.”
“I want you to have this.” She held the heart out in his direction.
He took the painted heart, eyes locked on hers.
“I want you to have my heart.”
Trevor cupped her face in his free hand, a world of emotions rushing through him. “You already have mine.” He brought her closer, searching her face and finding something there that he’d given up on a long time ago.
“Nobody has ever loved me the way you have, Trevor.”
“And nobody ever will.” He leaned in and let himself fall into her kiss as she drew herself nearer to him, reminding him without saying a word that God really did answer prayers.
Often when you least expected it.
He tugged himself away, still holding her, brushing her hair away from her eyes and getting lost in their deep blue for a long moment. “You are the answer to all my prayers, Evie.”
She softened, drawing him closer again. “Thank you for loving me. I know it wasn’t always easy.”
“I couldn’t help it. Believe me, I tried.” He took her face in his hands and pressed another soft kiss on her lips.
As he stepped back, he heard a car behind him. He turned and saw Gigi’s old Buick speeding their way. It came to a screeching halt, kicking up gravel dust, just inches from the tail of his truck.
The three old women got out and trudged toward them.
“You ladies have something to do with this?” Trevor called out, holding up the painted heart.
“No, Mr. Whitney,” Gigi said. “This was all Evelyn’s idea.”
“But we are happy we get to cross you off our to-be-matched list,” Doris said. “Hardest match ever.”
Trevor frowned.
“We’re not so hard,” Evelyn said. “We just needed a little time.”
“I’m just happy I don’t have to watch you two continue to mess everything up.” Ursula slung a wide bag over her shoulder. “That really gets old. You are both so dense.”
Trevor wrapped an arm around Evelyn, the two of them laughing at Ursula’s honesty, at the truth in it, at their own happiness.
“It is good to see you both smile,” Gigi said.
He glanced at Evelyn, who was looking at him. “You’re stuck with me now,” he told her.
“Thank goodness.” She smiled. “Because I can’t imagine going one more day without you.”
He kissed her forehead, pulled her close, and thanked God that while their story hadn’t followed the path he originally wanted, it had all led him here, and here was exactly where they both belonged.
CHAPTER
1
“I CAN’T BELIEVE she did this to me again.” Abigail Pressman stared at the computer screen in disbelief. Her own photo stared back, her pasted-on smile frozen in time.
“I can’t believe you still own a pair of overalls.” Mallory leaned down over her shoulder, eyes wide at Abigail’s most recent public humiliation. “Not flattering.”
“Understatement.” Abigail covered her face with her hands.
The four other dating websites were bad enough, but one exclusively for farmers? Abigail sighed. “I’ll never recover from this one.”
Elizabeth “Teensy” Pressman had two goals in life: first, to marry off all her children; and second, to have lots of grandbabies. It seemed the woman would stop at nothing until both were accomplished.
“I think she means well,” Mallory said, her wince audible.
Abigail groaned. Last month it had been a setup at her mother’s bridge club with Eunice Middleton’s forty-five-year-old son, Jasper, who lived two hours away in Denver.
Which left Abigail wondering, shouldn’t a woman with a name like Eunice know better than to name her child Jasper? Of course, who was she to talk with a mother who went by “Teensy”? The nickname she had picked up as the youngest and smallest of eight children had never gone away. Jasper, it turned out, wasn’t interested in Abigail any more than she was interested in him. Jasper had already found the love of his life, a tattoo artist who called herself Tipsy. In addition to being happily unmarried, he was also a wretched coward who couldn’t tell his mom about his live-in girlfriend.
Abigail peered at her own photo on the laptop screen on the counter in front of her. “She has officially lost her mind.”
“Do you think it costs money to sign up for these websites? She’s got to have a fortune in it. What is this, number four?”
“Five. Don’t forget the Young Loves Park Professionals site, which is local and even more embarrassing than FarmersOnly.”
Mallory shrugged. “City folks just don’t get it.”
Abigail grimaced. “Is that their slogan?”
Her store manager pointed at the screen. “Yep. See, the logo’s right here beside your straw hat and braids.”
Abigail only stared.
“The cow’s a nice touch.”
Teensy had clearly dug this one out of the archives. Abigail in the cow pasture next door to her parents’ house during a church picnic, her dark hair pulled into two braids. There happened to be a cow in the background, which, she supposed, enabled her mom to pass her off as a farm girl.
“We have to explore every avenue, Abigail,” her mother would say. “You’re not getting any younger, and Loves Park is only so big.”
“I’m wearing flannel in this picture, Mom,” Abigail would say in protest.
“But your teeth look so white.”
Again Abigail entertained the thought that she should move somewhere else, but not for the reasons her mother suggested. She had always dreamed of living in the city—or at least in a more sizable town. Loves Park, a small community known for its celebration of all things romantic, had targeted Abigail—single and almost thirty—like a cheetah eyeing a limping wildebeest.
As if she needed to be reminded of her inability to find the right guy and settle down. As if romance were the only thing she should want out of life. How barbaric to assume that. Yet here she was, living and working in Loves Park—a town that wouldn’t let her forget even for a moment who she was.
Maybe a fresh start was what she needed. Denver wasn’t too far a drive, yet it felt a whole world away from here.
But as quickly as the idea entered her mind, reality bumped it out of the way. Her father had entrusted The Book Nook to her upon his death. It was the only thing that had ever connected the two of them when he was alive: a shop full of books. Perhaps it was a silly legacy. It certainly hadn’t made her wealthy and it wouldn’t change the world. But it was all she had left of him, and she wasn’t about to let it go. Besides, she had a plan to expand her little shop—a plan that had once felt like a whisper on the wind but that might actually come to pass.
Two months before, her landlady, Harriet, who ran a mercantile in the other half of the building, told Abigail
she’d decided to retire and shut down the mercantile. Abigail received the news with the appropriate amount of sadness, amazed at her own ability to act forlorn when, in truth, she fought to contain her joy. Of course she’d miss the shop next door—Harriet was a kind woman, and her two sons were always bringing home the most unique items from their worldwide travels. But it meant that finally—finally—she could expand her own store. She could already see the expansion in her mind. She’d visualized it every time she walked into the mercantile.
Abigail had already decided how to transform one of the mercantile’s walls into a gallery of her favorite local artists. She knew exactly where she would display vintage treasures and handmade jewelry. And in her spare time, she’d already refinished a number of flea-market furniture discoveries that customers were sure to love. Abigail was sure The Book Nook could be much more than a tidy, cozy shop packed with wall-to-wall books. Adding the café with local gourmet coffee last year was a nice touch, but her dream was more venti than tall.
Plus, she’d finally be owner, not tenant, and something about that made Abigail grow a bit inside. Wyatt Nelson, premier Realtor of Loves Park, had given his word she’d be the first to know of any interest in the property, but his offer was about to expire. “The sign is going up in ten days,” he’d recently told her in his I’m-a-very-busy-man voice.
She made a mental note to pester Harvey at the bank and find out what on earth was taking him so long. Once that sign went up, stiff competition would follow. Loves Park, nestled up in the Rocky Mountains, was prime real estate. The picturesque backdrop and nearby national parks brought thousands of tourists to their little town each year. Add to that the never-ending celebration of romance, and much to Abigail’s dismay, Loves Park became a prime location for weddings, honeymoons, and those looking to rekindle what they once had. Despite how she felt about the endless supply of couples, it all contributed to the fact that Abigail’s building, right in the heart of Old Town, was one of the most desirable within city limits.
Change of Heart Page 33