Love Inspired May 2015 #1

by Brenda Minton

  “What was a four-year-old doing alone near a pond?”

  “Exactly my grandmother’s question,” Spring said. “She must have seen me leave the house and followed me. There was a family of ducks, a mama and her ducklings, who would come here to sun themselves.”

  Spring took off her shoes and stood at the water’s edge as if the ducks from long ago were still there waiting for her.

  “Without scolding me for venturing away from the house, Grandma put some bread crumbs in my hand and told me to toss them out for the ducks. The mama duck, she explained, had a lot of work to do. She needed to tend to the babies while looking out for predators like hawks, who would swoop down and snatch a baby, or the hounds that liked to chase the ducks until they tired, leaving them too exhausted to fend off other hungry predators.”

  “So she likened your parents with the new baby to the mother duck?”

  “Exactly,” Spring said. “The lesson I learned that day, the one that stayed with me for the rest of my life, was that the elders have to care for and look out for the younger ones, be they human or animal. You know, the least of us.”

  David nodded. “I see the parallel to the Scripture in Matthew.”

  “So,” Spring said, “I stopped resenting my little sister. It’s a good thing I did since two more would come in short order. I took the whole older sister bit to heart. Probably too much, they would say,” she added. “But the die was cast. Later, as I grew up and could appreciate it more, my grandfather told me about the history of this land, the slaves who came through on their way to freedom. The migrants who worked the fields here before heading north to the eastern shores of both Virginia and Maryland.

  “I soaked all of that information in, David. I became a living and breathing history lesson.”

  “What does that have to do with the mixed-use development project?”

  “Everything,” she said. “I became a doctor because that’s in my DNA. My father and my grandfather were doctors. But from my grandmothers, I got the love of and appreciation for history. I don’t want this land preserved because I want it in my family. I want it preserved so all of the families in Cedar Springs and elsewhere can learn the stories of what this area meant.”

  “Then why haven’t you done something about it?” David asked. “All I see is a nice house, some well-maintained fields and nothing else.”

  Spring was hoping he’d ask.

  “Cecelia and I are in the process of writing a grant application for just that,” she said, hoping the note of pride and confidence she heard in her own voice didn’t sound quite as sanctimonious as she thought it did. “Until Mayor Howell popped up with this mixed-use development idea, there was no need to announce or make public what we were working on. All the pieces were fitting together. My family was donating the land to the project. We had a solid business plan. All we needed was the rest of the funding.”

  She looked away for a moment and sighed heavily. “We learned the hard way about making things public before all the i’s were dotted and all the t’s crossed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She then told him the history of the Junction at Commerce Plaza. “The historical society wanted that land to build a history and interpretive center. Before we knew it, though, gas pumps and twenty-four-hour flashing lights were there. That junction—we believed then and still believe now—has a major historical site beneath it, a mill and a cemetery. But because the project was rushed through and done so hush-hush without anything approximating public comment, we’ll never know for sure now.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “So, this history and interpretive center you’re talking about would be here?”

  Spring nodded. “With an archeological research aspect to it. That’s where the grant writing comes in,” she said. “When we say ‘history’ or ‘archeology’ to the public, people’s eyes generally glaze over. But that doesn’t have to be the case. There are actually waiting lists for the seminars Cecelia teaches at the university.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me this?” David asked. “Why lure me into the lion’s den to attack?”

  She sighed again. “This is going to sound lame, and it is lame, but, well, it seemed like it a good idea at the time. It was the best I could come up with. Things seem to be moving very fast as far as the city’s official channels are concerned.”

  He contemplated her for a moment, as if weighing the veracity of her words. She tried to imagine how she would feel if their roles and the situation were reversed.

  “That’s not good enough, Spring,” he said.

  “I thought you might say something like that.”

  She leaned her head back and regarded the sky for a moment as if the right words might shower down on her. When she faced him again, it was with a newfound resolve.

  “There’s a bench over there,” she said, indicating a shady grove a few yards away. She didn’t wait for him to respond to the implied invitation; she just starting walking toward it, her shoe straps dangling in her hands.

  She had to make this man, this man she was starting to care way too much about despite their differences, she had to make him understand why this meant so much to her.

  They settled on the wooden bench, placed strategically by one of her grandparents for optimum views of both the pond and the garden.

  He indicated with a motion of his head that he was ready to listen to her.

  Spring wasn’t quite sure where to begin and told him just that.

  “Then start at the beginning,” he said.

  Her laugh sounded to her ears more bitter than humor filled. “That, my friend, would take all night.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  The softly spoken words startled her, and she tucked a foot under herself as she faced him. For a moment, she said nothing, just stared into eyes that held no censure. What she saw was patience and promise and something else she recognized: gentleness and understanding. Maybe David Camden, and what his company represented, was not the enemy as she’d initially perceived him at the planning commission meeting. Maybe he was simply a man who believed in what he did as strongly as she believed in the causes and programs that were her own personal passions.

  And maybe the beginning is where she needed to start.

  “My sisters and I,” she began, “grew up in a wealthy family. But we were all taught from a very young age that to whom much is given, much is required. Summer, Winter, Autumn and I learned by the examples set for us by our parents and grandparents. Giving to the community in some form or fashion wasn’t just expected—it was simply part of having the Darling last name.”

  When he nodded, she continued. “My father and grandfather were doctors who worked long hours, and their wives, my mother and grandmother, were far from simply the garden club ladies who lunched. Granted, Lovie does both and in style, but she also gets her hands dirty.” She smiled. “You’re probably wondering what this has to do with anything.”

  He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  Her mouth quirked up in amusement at that as she contemplated their joined hands.

  “How old were you when you had Jeremy?”

  “Is that your roundabout way of asking how old I am? I’m thirty-six. Jeremy is four.”

  “I’m thirty-five,” she said. “When I was a little girl, there was no doubt that I would be a doctor. That’s all I ever wanted to do. But I also assumed I’d have a family, a husband and children to share my life. When I started college, I knew that by thirty-two—the age you were when Jeremy was born—I just knew for sure that I would be living the white-picket-fence life. Preferably here at the farmhouse because of course the man I married would want to live here,” she added with a small, wry laugh. “But it didn’t happen that way for me. And so when I finished medical
school, I gave all of my energy to the work that I loved. That meant building not just my career, but my community. Before long, that’s all there was. It’s who I am and what I am.”

  “You’re wrong, Spring,” he said, the words so quiet she would have missed them had she not been sitting right next to him. “You’re more than how you fill the hours of each day.”

  “I know,” she said. “I have my family, my sisters and mother, good friends, an active church community—”

  He paused the rush of words with a finger at her mouth.

  “Do you know why I was first attracted to you?”

  Her eyes darted across his features, indicating the confusion his words wrought.

  He chuckled. “Now you’re wondering if I’ve changed the subject.”

  She tugged a bit in order to release his hand from hers, but he held on tighter, forcing her to remain seated beside him on the bench even though his intensity made her want to flee.

  A moment later he released her hand. Spring didn’t move from her spot on the seat.

  He continued talking as if the little tug-of-war hadn’t happened. “You were beautiful and the MD on your lab coat assured me that you would see to my son’s health and well-being. But I saw something else in you,” David told her. “I saw an innate goodness. That’s something that can’t be playacted. It’s either there or it isn’t. And I saw it in abundance in you.”

  “David...”

  “Let me finish,” he said, taking her hand again, this time letting her palm rest in his. “We clearly don’t see eye to eye on this project. But I’d like to believe I have an open mind. Tell me something, Spring. Was this so-called Magnolia Supper Club intervention the only reason you invited me to dinner?”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you in the car as we drove out here. I...” She paused for a moment, got her thoughts together. This was the crux of it in one simple question. She knew that a lot was riding on her answer. He wasn’t just talking about a municipal development versus historic preservation. The question was personal, and she knew it. It was about them, just the two of them. Spring and David as individuals. As a couple.

  A couple?

  A part of her wanted to hedge. It could all go horribly wrong. And probably would. But she wanted to take the chance. Wasn’t life about taking chances, the road less traveled and all of that? It had taken years to mend her heart after it had been broken the last time. Until David Camden and that sweetheart of a son of his had walked into the Common Ground Free Clinic, she hadn’t noticed a man, not dared to expose her heart to the possibility of love. But now? Now she was willing to take that chance, make that leap.

  “No. It’s not the only reason I invited you,” she answered him, taking the jump and hoping a net or some feathers or something soft would break her fall.

  Chapter Twelve

  That conversation marked a turning point for them. When they returned to the house, it was to find anxious faces waiting for them.

  “We decided to be adult about this,” David said.

  Gerald slumped with relief into the wing-back chair where he’d been perched with a demitasse cup. “Oh, thank goodness. We were beginning to wonder if one of you had murdered the other out there.”

  “Nothing so dramatic,” Spring said. “Did you save any biscotti?”

  With the air clear in the room and another tray of biscotti passed around, David asked for more information about the history of Cedar Springs.

  It was close to midnight when they finally arrived back in the parking lot at David’s hotel. He walked her to her car.

  “Thank you for an...interesting evening,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

  “Water under the bridge,” he assured her. “After the drama, I actually learned quite a bit. Information that I didn’t know, wouldn’t have guessed and that my team back in Charlotte hadn’t discovered.”

  Spring groaned, and her shoulders slumped. “I’ve made things worse for us. I suppose this is a just punishment for being dishonest with you. You’re going full speed ahead with your plans to—”

  He halted her words with a finger on her lips again, and a heartbeat later his finger was replaced by his mouth on hers.

  The kiss was so light and sweet that Spring responded before realizing just what she was doing—kissing him back.

  He released her and took a step back. “My plans haven’t changed, Spring. And neither have yours. What’s changed between us is that we’re each a little more willing to see the other’s perspective on the matter.”

  “That’s true,” she said, wondering at the almost breathless voice she barely recognized as her own.

  “Since you insist on apologizing, how about a proper one?”

  She eyed him with sudden suspicion. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “A date,” he said. “A real one. Just the two of us. With no talk of my work or yours the entire time.”

  She grinned and held her hand out. He clasped it in his.

  “Deal,” she said.

  * * *

  That Saturday they both conceded that who they were and what they were would probably seep into their conversation at some point, but they would use any such moment to discuss their differences rationally.

  It was a great plan and would have worked had they not stopped by Step Back in Time Antiques. She’d mentioned the antique train set that was on display at the store and how it had reminded her of Jeremy that very first night. Then to discover one of his favorite books was about a train—they had to stop and see it, she said.

  Gerald Murphy saw them and waved them in with a frantic wave.

  “Spring, David. You aren’t going to believe what’s happened,” he wailed.

  Alarmed, Spring grabbed her friend’s arm. “What’s happened?”

  “A burglary!” he said, ushering them deeper into the store.

  “No,” Spring exclaimed. “Not again. What was taken?”

  “Not here,” Gerald said. “Down the street at Object d’Art. It happened the night of our dinner. This is horrible, just horrible. What’s happened to our lovely little city?”

  Richard came out of the office with a plump woman in her midfifties behind him and assessed the situation. He tucked his reading glasses on top of his head. “Well, I see Gerald has shared the disturbing news.”

  “Hi, Annette,” Spring said. She quickly introduced David to both Richard and his wife, then asked, “What happened?”

  “It was horrible!” Gerald said. “I think I need something to calm my nerves.”

  “Try some tea,” Spring intoned drily. “Tea Time down the street has a specialty blend that’s just what the doctor ordered.”

  Gerald huffed and turned back toward the office, leaving his business partner to fill in the details of the city’s crime spree.

  Richard shook his head. “He needs a vacation.”

  “He needs a wife,” Annette said.

  “What woman would have him? She’d have to be a neurotic hypochondriac like him or they’d make each other crazy.”

  “Maddie Powers is perfect for him,” Annette said.

  Spring all but stamped her foot. “Richard, what happened at the art gallery?”

  The antiques dealer sighed. “The same sort of thing that happened to us,” he said. “The police said a person or persons unknown broke in about nine o’clock. Walked in, selected three pieces—one of them on loan from the Tate’s modern art collection. Poor Allison,” he said. “She had to call Miranda and tell her what happened.”

  Spring filled in the blanks for David. “Allison is the gallery’s assistant manager. She’s been holding down the fort, so to speak, while the owner has been recuperating from an illness. And the Tate is a British—”

  “I�
�m familiar with its museums and galleries.”

  “What in the world is going on around here?”

  Annette hustled to the Hepplewhite writing desk that served as the store’s checkout area. David’s gaze followed her, and his eyes widened. He stood gaping at the piece of furniture.

  “Reproduction, right?”

  Annette laughed. “Hardly. Thank goodness our burglars didn’t have your eye.”

  “Is it...?”

  “Not for sale,” Richard said, coming up behind him with Spring. “And with these crimes suddenly plaguing downtown, we may move it to the house.”

  “Here it is,” Annette said as she handed a flier to Spring. “The police came by with this. Chief Llewelyn has called an open meeting for merchants and residents to provide information about the incidents.”

  Spring read the flier and handed it to David, who read it without comment.

  “Are you going?” Spring asked.

  “Of course. We were the first victims, and we hope poor Allison and Miranda were the last.”

  When Spring and David returned to her car, Spring sat at the wheel in silence for a bit.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Thoughts that I’d rather not,” she said. “I was thinking about something Cecelia and I saw the other day.” She relayed the information about Sweet Willie out on Orchard Road.

  “You think he’s a thief?”

  Spring shook her head. “No. But these burglaries and what we were talking about at the supper club, about the squatters, it seems...” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not necessarily connected. But related. I want to check on something out at the farm if you don’t mind.”

  “The farm?”

  “The farmhouse, or rather the land and buildings around it,” she clarified.

  Spring leaned over and looked at his feet. “What kind of shoes are you wearing?”