From This Day Forward (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  “I am,” Cara responded.

  “Dr. Martin? You’ll come, too, won’t you? Of course you will.” Without giving him a chance to decline, she shouldered her way between them and linked her arms with theirs, as if to ensure that neither could escape. “Have you been thinking about the restaurant idea, Cara?”

  Aware that Sam was once again looking at her, Cara shifted her purse higher on her shoulder and kept her focus on Marge. “Yes. I was going to talk to you about it today. I’ll be happy to help for as long as I’m here.”

  “Hallelujah! I was praying in church this morning that you’d sign on. Looks like God was listening.” Turning to Sam, Marge smiled. “Won’t this be a boon for Oak Hill? Imagine…a restaurant started by a Cordon Bleu chef!”

  At Sam’s puzzled look, Cara spoke up. “I…uh…didn’t get a chance to tell Sam about the idea, Marge.”

  “Goodness, I hope I didn’t let the cat out of the bag!” The woman gave her a dismayed look, then shrugged. “But everyone in town will know about it soon, anyway.” She proceeded to fill Sam in on the plan as they walked.

  She finished as they stepped into the hall, and several ladies made a beeline for them.

  “Oh, that’s the kitchen committee for the Fourth of July booth,” Marge explained to Cara. “They have a few questions. Let me introduce you.”

  As Cara did her best to focus on the women’s questions, she heard Sam ask a question of his own, and out of the corner of her eye she watched Marge draw him off to one side. Although she couldn’t hear their conversation, she could see Marge’s animation and the speculative glances Sam directed her way. A short while later, she saw Reverend Andrews stop by to greet Sam, and long after Marge had flitted off, the minister and Sam continued to talk, a bit apart from the crowd, their expressions intent and serious.

  Not until they were headed out to the car twenty minutes later did Cara have a chance to speak to Sam again. And she wasn’t quite sure what to say. For some reason, she felt a need to explain her reticence about her two projects with Marge. But she wasn’t even sure how to explain it to herself. She’d had ample opportunity to share the news with Sam over dinner the past couple of days. Why hadn’t she? She’d certainly had no hesitation about discussing it with Liz, or seeking her friend’s advice.

  “Marge told me you’ve upgraded the menu for the church booth at the Fourth of July festival.” Sam broke the uncomfortable silence between them as they wove through the cars in the parking lot, his tone casual and conversational.

  “She more or less roped me into it.”

  “That sounds like Marge.” He opened her door, waited until she slid in, closed it. A few seconds later he took his place behind the wheel and inserted his key in the ignition. “The restaurant sounds interesting, too.”

  Fiddling with her seat belt gave Cara an excuse to avert her face. “I probably should have mentioned it, but I only decided last night to get involved.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations, Cara.”

  While there was no recrimination in his voice, she felt guilty nonetheless. They were sharing the same roof, after all. And they ate dinner together every night—at her suggestion. Not to mention that he’d been there for her when she’d had the panic attack. Cara sighed as she secured her seat belt. This arrangement wasn’t turning out to be as simple as she’d hoped. There weren’t supposed to be any obligations.

  Feeling the need to respond to his comment, Cara tried to downplay her involvement. “It’s not a big deal, anyway. Marge thinks she can get this up and running before I leave, but I doubt that will happen. I’m just going to help with the start-up plans.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do a great job. And as a veteran of Gus’s, I can guarantee it will be a success. Oak Hill is in desperate need of a fine dining option.” He turned onto his street. “I have to run into Rolla to visit a hospitalized patient. I’ll drop you off by the back door, if that’s okay. Shall I bring back some Chinese food for dinner?”

  Grateful that he’d changed the subject, Cara endorsed his idea. She’d planned to roast a pork tenderloin, but it would keep until tomorrow. Then she fell silent again and stared out the window. Sitting beside Sam in church had brought back memories of happier times. And the look he’d given her after the sermon—the one that told her he wanted a second chance—had been unnerving.

  What unnerved her even more, however, was that she was beginning to feel the same way Sam did. But starting over would require her to forgive. And she’d have to learn to trust again. Two tasks that seemed impossible.

  Opening her door the instant he came to a stop, she scrambled out of the car, anxious to put some distance between them. But as Sam drove off, Cara knew that physical distance wasn’t going to keep her safe. Sam seemed to be on a quest to prove that he was a changed man, and despite her best defenses, he was making inroads on her heart.

  The church booth at the Fourth of July festival was a resounding success.

  With a satisfied smile, Cara pushed a few damp tendrils of hair off her forehead and surveyed the long lines. Despite the high humidity and near-hundred-degree weather, they’d done a steady business since opening three hours ago. At this rate, they’d be sold out before the official seven o’clock closing, an hour away—putting to rest any lingering skepticism from the church ladies about whether the locals would embrace the new menu.

  “Sorry I was gone so long, but my copier is slow as molasses.” Marge appeared at Cara’s elbow, puffing as she fanned herself with the sheaf of papers in her hand. Pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of her red, white and blue shirt, which was adorned with sequined appliqués of the U.S. flag, the Statue of Liberty and George Washington, she wiped her brow. “Typical Fourth of July in Missouri. You could fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

  Tucking the square of limp linen back into her pocket, she plopped the papers on the edge of the food booth.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” Cara picked up one of the flyers, which advised customers that if they had enjoyed their Fourth of July dinner, they should call the Oak Hill Inn and inquire about the soon-to-open restaurant.

  “He who hesitates is lost. But even I didn’t expect all the flyers to disappear before we closed. I told you the idea would be a hit. Especially after folks taste the great menu you put together for today.”

  “I agree.”

  At the sound of Sam’s voice, both women turned. He was juggling a plate of food in one hand and a cone of cotton candy in the other.

  “Now that’s an interesting combination,” Marge pronounced.

  “This is for me.” Sam lifted the plate. “And this—” he indicated the cotton candy “—is for Cara. If she can take a break.”

  “Of course she can take a break,” Marge declared. “She’s been working like a dog for the past two days, and she’s been on her feet in this heat since we set up at one o’clock. Go, find a shady spot and sit. Enjoy the band concert. We’ll close things up here. You’ve done more than your share.” She waved them off.

  “I guess I have my instructions.” Cara flexed the muscles in her shoulders. “And I don’t think I’m going to argue. I’m used to the heat in kitchens, but the humidity here is pretty draining.”

  As she spoke, a family vacated a bench not far from the bandstand in the center of the town park, and Sam headed that direction. “Let’s claim that spot before someone beats us to it.”

  Once seated, he held out the cotton candy. “I figured you’d already eaten dinner. Or sampled enough at the booth to count as dinner. This is dessert.”

  Touched by the gesture, Cara reached for the cone of pink spun sugar. Despite her Cordon Bleu credentials, she’d always had a weakness for this treat, which evoked memories of her childhood, of country fairs and school picnics and trips to the circus with her family, when her dad had bought her and her sister cotton candy. She’d mentioned that to Sam once, early in their relationship. After that, whenever they went somewhere that offered carnival fare,
he’d buy her a cone. But it had been years since he’d done so. She’d assumed he’d forgotten.

  If she was surprised by his thoughtfulness, she was even more surprised that he’d come to the festival. Marge had told her that he hadn’t appeared at any of the community events since moving to town. He’d said nothing to Cara about attending, so she’d figured he would spend the day working, as he had most of the holidays during their marriage.

  Of course, she’d been guilty of that, too. There was no such thing as a day off in the restaurant business. Holidays simply meant more work. While Cara had drawn the line at Christmas and Easter, reserving those days for God, Sam had always been at the hospital. Holidays had come and gone for them as a couple with almost no notice. That he was here today was yet more evidence that he’d changed.

  “Marge is really excited about this restaurant idea, isn’t she?” Sam interrupted her musings as he dug into his plate of food.

  “Yes. She’s even convinced Abby Warner to do a feature story on it in the Gazette.” She pulled off a tuft of cotton candy and popped it in her mouth, smiling as it dissolved into sweetness on her tongue. “Mmm. I haven’t had this in years.”

  An answering smile played at Sam’s lips. “I always loved that little-girl look you get on your face when you eat it.”

  Suddenly self-conscious, Cara dipped her head and steered the conversation in a different direction. “How come you’re not working today? You always did rounds, or handled emergencies or caught up on paperwork on holidays.”

  “Family practice is a whole different ball game. Since I never have more than a patient or two hospitalized at once, it doesn’t take long to do rounds. I manage to handle paperwork during normal working hours. And Stella, my receptionist, is a whiz at all the insurance forms. I do handle emergencies if they come up, but most of them can be dealt with by phone. It’s a different life here, Cara.”

  And what about the old one, Sam? Do you still miss it as desperately as you once did? Or have you truly made peace with what happened?

  The questions whirled around in her mind as Cara plucked at her cotton candy, but she left them unspoken. If she wanted to keep things impersonal, those were topics best left untouched.

  They continued to eat in silence, watching as the local band began assembling in the gazebo for the concert. Families were gathering in groups, some in lawn chairs, others on blankets that had been spread on the ground. Children scampered about, and laughter rang in the air. It was small-town America at its best.

  As Cara finished her cotton candy, Sam devoured the last of his dinner, chasing one elusive piece of pasta around on his plate with his plastic fork until he managed to spear it.

  Cara couldn’t help smiling. “You must have liked it.”

  “I’d go back for seconds, but I’m too late.” He gestured toward the food booth, where Marge was posting a Sold Out sign. “Shall I get rid of that for you?” He reached for the empty paper cone.

  “It’s pretty sticky.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Acquiescing, she handed it over.

  “Sit tight. I don’t want to lose our spot for the concert.”

  “You’re staying?” Surprise lifted her eyebrows.

  “I hear it’s the thing to do on the Fourth of July. And there will be fireworks in the ball field outside of town after dark.”

  Before she could respond, he headed toward a trash can near the food booth.

  In all the years they’d been together, she and Sam had attended a mere handful of concerts together. And they’d never watched a fireworks display, she realized. Work had always intruded. Perhaps tonight would give her a taste of what it might have been like had they made a success of their marriage.

  “You were right, it was sticky.” Sam rejoined her on the bench, wiping his hands on a damp paper napkin. When he finished, he turned to her, grinning. “And I’m not the only one with a souvenir. Someone has a cotton candy mustache.”

  Embarrassed, Cara scrubbed at her upper lip with her fingers. But she went still when Sam touched her hand. “Let me.”

  For an instant, neither moved. Cara knew she could resist his gentle tug on her hand. Knew she should resist. But the look in Sam’s eyes melted her resolve. She let him remove her hand, then stopped breathing as he dabbed at her upper lip, leaning close enough that his breath fanned her cheeks. Close enough for her to drown in the depths of his deep blue eyes. Close enough to remember what it had been like to feel his strong arms close around her as she lost herself in his kiss.

  As Sam stared at the woman he loved, a whisper away, and saw the sudden yearning in her eyes, his mouth went dry and his hand hesitated for a heartbeat. He’d never been good at reading the subtleties of expression, but he knew every nuance of his wife’s features. The look on her unguarded face now, soft and filled with invitation, reminded him of the way she had always looked during their most tender moments. Welcoming and receptive to his touch. Sending him a silent plea to show her how much he cared.

  His gaze dropped to her soft lips, and for a brief second he was tempted to claim them, to forget all that had gone before and forge a new beginning. Tempted enough to lean toward her—only to be jolted back to common sense by the ringing of his cell phone.

  The spell broken, Cara backed off as quickly as a squirrel scuttling up a tree. Sam balled the damp napkin in his fist as he reached for his phone.

  He kept the conversation brief, afraid if he talked too long she’d slip away, his attention fixed on her. The late-afternoon sun cast a golden glow on her profile, drawing out the fiery highlights in her hair and sparking the tips of her long lashes. She moistened her lips, whether from nervousness or to catch a lingering fleck of sticky sweetness from the cotton candy he wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered. The innocent gesture drew his attention to her lips again…and that led back to memories of their kisses…and all at once he lost track of the conversation he was having.

  Forcing himself to refocus, he completed the call and flipped the phone shut, trying to stifle his disappointment. “I’ve got an emergency. I need to see a patient in Rolla.” His voice came out more husky than usual.

  “No problem.”

  He hesitated, reluctant to end this interlude, and didn’t attempt to hide his regret when he rose at last. “I doubt I’ll finish in time to catch any of the concert. But I’ll try to make it back for the fireworks. Will you be okay by yourself?”

  “I’m fine, Sam. Don’t hurry on my account.”

  She lifted her face, exposing the delicate column of her throat. Once more, an overpowering urge to kiss her swept over him. It took every ounce of his willpower to force himself to turn away.

  As he strode toward his car, determined to handle this emergency with record speed, he replayed her parting words.

  Don’t hurry back on my account.

  And he wouldn’t.

  He was planning to hurry back on his account.

  From her seat on the porch swing, Cara had a clear view of the fireworks being shot off from the ball field on the edge of town. It was a fine display, and she was enjoying it. But she wished Sam had arrived back in time to watch it with her.

  And that wasn’t a good thing.

  In fact, she wasn’t sure her whole visit was a good thing.

  There had been some benefits, of course. Memories of the shooting were losing their power to freak her out. She’d only had one panic attack since arriving. And her nightmares had ceased.

  But her long-buried feelings for Sam were resurfacing with an intensity that alarmed her. She’d been certain they had died. Obviously she’d been wrong. They were still there, deep inside. Waiting to be reignited. And Sam’s transformation had been the flint that sparked them back to life.

  From the day she’d left him, Cara had known that Sam regretted all he’d done to alienate her. In the first months of their separation, he’d written notes, left messages on her answering machine, sent flowers. She’d never read the letters. And she h
ad erased the messages without listening to them, given the flowers to an elderly neighbor. Yet she’d recognized the gestures as his attempt to apologize. Except her heart hadn’t been open to forgiveness, let alone reconciliation. She’d been hurting too much.

  But Reverend Andrews’s sermon had been replaying in her mind ever since Sunday. God did call His people to love. To forgive. To put fear aside, and to trust. Had Cara come to Oak Hill and found the Sam she’d left—arrogant, angry, bitter—those instructions would have been difficult, if not impossible, to follow.

  Instead, she’d discovered a changed man. A man who was doing everything possible to express his contrition and caring. A man who was struggling to build a new life, humbled by the suffering he’d endured. A man who wanted to fit in but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. A man who was doing the best he could.

  In other words, a man of courage and compassion and integrity.

  The kind of man she could fall in love with all over again.

  And therein lay the problem.

  The sudden sound of a car turning into the driveway drew her attention, and a second later headlights swept the front of the detached garage.

  He was back.

  As she debated whether to scurry into the house, the decision was taken out of her hands. Sam strode down the path, stopping when he saw her on the porch swing.

  “You didn’t go the fireworks.”

  “I figured I could see them just as well from here and I wouldn’t have to worry about the crowd.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised she’d come back to the house, knowing how skittish she was about being out at night alone. That was one of the reasons he’d driven as fast as he dared on the narrow country roads, hoping to arrive home in time to take her to the display. But from miles away he’d seen the glow in the sky and realized he’d never make it in time. Finding her on the back porch was a bonus.

  The other reason he’d pushed the speed limit was because he wanted to share the fireworks experience with her. And it might not be too late for that, he realized, his spirits rising.