What Hope Remembers
Page 30
“Let me set you straight on a few things, Gabriel Kendall.” Her eyes sparkled with pretend outrage. “You have a few hundred in the bank? I’m a little ahead of you there since I have a few thousand. But that’s it. And I traded my BMW for Wild Rose so we’d have three horses instead of just two. Our herd may be small, but it’s a start.”
“Back up a minute. You traded your baby?”
“And I have a job. At least a temporary one.”
“Doing what?”
“Didn’t you hear? Dylan’s commissioner friend resigned.”
“Guess I’ve been busy with other things.” Like sorting through Tess’s belongings. Trying to figure out how he was going to keep the place without taking a handout from his dad.
“I’m campaign manager for the man who’s going to take his place.”
Gabe took a moment to let that sink in. “Who are you working for? AJ?”
Amy snorted. “I didn’t even try to talk him into running.”
“I give up. Whose arm did you twist?”
“Paul Norris. Though I didn’t have to twist very hard. He’ll protect this county. Its ag industry. And I’m going to help him do it.”
Determination shone in her eyes, and its light filled Gabe’s heart with renewed hope that maybe the future wasn’t so grim after all. “Who’d have believed it? City gal Amy Somers all enthusiastic about country folk,” he drawled.
“I’m serious, Gabe.” Her eyes shifted away, she took a deep breath, then stared at him. “I did something else. Now don’t get mad.”
“You definitely woke up my curiosity with that line. What did you do?”
“Made it so you’re all caught up on the mortgage.” She placed her hand against his lips before he could respond. “I know what you’re thinking, but I also know we can do this.”
Gabe rose, then paced in the small space in front of the log. “I don’t believe it.” Though he shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone could succeed at such a venture, it was his Amy.
“Now we’re partners. I know the property has to go through probate and all that, but you can keep living in your house. Or you can move into the cottage with me. Or I can move in with you.”
He widened his eyes in mock horror. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
She gave him an impish grin. “I do expect there to be a wedding first.”
“Hold it right there, little lady. If anyone is going to do any proposing around here, it’s me.”
“Just make it soon.”
Gabe reached for her hands, pulled her to her feet, then clasped his arms around her waist. “You said you’d wait a lifetime.”
She removed his hat and gazed into his eyes. “I doubt I’ll have to.”
He shook his head as he bent closer. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”
“Every moment.”
He gently pressed his lips against hers, and tasted again the innocence of their youth.
A breeze quickened, rustling the leaves surrounding them and whispering long-ago echoes of their first kiss.
I love you, Amy.
I love you too, Gabe.
43
ONE YEAR LATER
Gabe stirred from a restful night’s sleep and checked the glowing red numbers on the old clock radio.
6:52 a.m.
He breathed a contented sigh as Amy nestled into him. His eyes closed and his hand rested on the swelling curve of her abdomen. A tiny yet firm movement pushed back.
In the house at Whisper Lane, where children rode horses on warm summer days and ate snickerdoodles made from Aunt Tess’s recipe, Gabe and Amy slept.
Acknowledgments
You might say this is an unexpected story. For years I dreamed of telling Shelby and AJ’s story, and I hoped to tell Brett’s too. But I never expected, never thought, never ever considered telling Amy’s.
But friends insisted. So thank you to Carol Anne Giaquinto, Joy Van Tassel, and Mandy Zema for caring about Amy during her dark times and pushing me into listening to her tale. I hope you love her love story.
My deepest gratitude also goes to these fine people who answered a multitude of questions on a wide range of topics: Tina Yeager, therapist and life coach; Mark Mynheir, novelist and law enforcement investigator; Leanna Lindsay Hollis for farming and gardening info; Cathy Gambill for farming info and for sharing her personal story of a barn fire; Alan Hale, Ft. Worth firefighter; Teresa McDanel, who’s married to a cowboy and also the mom of one; Dr. Stephen Galloway, my favorite veterinarian; Gayelynn Oyler, my equine expert; Natalie Snodgrass and Jennifer Zarifeh Major, my tea-brewing experts; and to everyone on Facebook who took time to answer my odd and crazy questions. (Any details I got wrong are on me.)
My special thanks to novelist Naomi Rawlings for her invaluable feedback when this series was a one-story draft; fashion whiz Mandy Zema for creating Pinterest wardrobe boards for each of the series’ heroines; novelist Patricia Bradley for asking the right questions when I got stuck in a corner; author (and daughter) Bethany Jett for listening to me read the final draft as we drove to a writers conference; and to my sister Hebe Alexander, who courageously endured my writerly angst as the deadline grew closer and a resolution was nowhere in sight.
As always, I am so appreciative of my lovely agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, and my amazing team at Revell: Vicki Crumpton, Kristin Kornoelje, Michele Misiak, Karen Steele, Hannah Brinks, and Cheryl Van Andel. Each of you holds a special place in my heart.
Huge thanks and a heartfelt hug to each person on my Misty Willow Team. You are invaluable in your support, encouragement, and resourcefulness. Thank you so much.
My deepest love as always to Bethany, Jillian, Nate, and their families.
And thanks to my heavenly Father for the gift of unexpected stories.
Johnnie Alexander imagines stories—contemporaries, historicals, and cozy mysteries—whether she’s at home in Florida or on the road. Sharing her vagabond life are Griff, her happy-go-lucky collie, and Rugby, her raccoon-treeing papillon. Join Johnnie at www.johnnie-alexander.com to experience the love of random travel and the joy of treasured moments.
Books by Johnnie Alexander
MISTY WILLOW
Where She Belongs
When Love Arrives
What Hope Remembers
Johnnie-Alexander.com
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