The Courage to Dream

by Margaret Daley

  “Why can’t you start on the kitchen design until they want to include you in their lives? I know you, Rachel. You’ll go crazy in Flora’s house without some kind of direction.”

  “I’m experimenting with some new dishes.”

  “Not enough.”

  “I’m cleaning and boxing up Aunt Flora’s things.”

  “Still not enough.”

  “Helen wants me to get involved in the church again. I thought—”

  He placed his fingers over her mouth to still her words. “I’m all for that, Rachel, but you can do that and still design my kitchen. You’ve always liked to be kept busy. What better way than doing something you’ll enjoy?”

  She sighed, knowing when to admit defeat. “Promise me it will be strictly business between us,” she said, desperate for him to be the strong one.

  “I can promise you nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. You are in control.” He backed away.

  She looked from him to the antiquated kitchen. “Okay. I’ll design the kitchen, but as soon as my financing for my own restaurant comes through, I’ll quit. You may have to find someone to finish the project.”

  “You won’t back out until then?”

  She nodded, feeling as though she had just agreed to her own prison term. “When do you want to start?”

  “How about now? Let’s take a tour, then we can talk in the main salon.”

  “I’ve been on the boat before. We don’t have to go on a tour.”

  “But it’s been over ten years, Rachel. I want you to see it, to get a feel for the place before you start your designing. I want to explain some of the plans I have for this old steamboat.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, her interest piqued.

  “When the boat’s ready, we’ll start with lunchtime cruises on the river. The customers will get a chance to eat good food and see some of the beautiful scenery. I plan to stop at a couple of the plantations for tours, too. If that takes off, then I want to do nighttime cruises. Make it romantic, evenings meant for two.” He gestured for her to go down the hallway where the staterooms were. “Of course, I always have the option of never leaving the pier, but the engines are in good shape.”

  Rachel opened one of the doors to a cabin. “What are you going to do with these?”

  Michael entered and made a full circle. “Nothing at the moment. Later I could have weekend cruises.”

  “Then are you going to redo these?” She looked at him and wished she hadn’t.

  “Yes.” He walked toward her.

  She had meant to move out into the corridor but felt snared by the intensity in his eyes.

  “I want to furnish these rooms with period pieces. Make people feel like they’ve stepped back in time to the days when steamboats reigned on the river. I have some furniture in storage at Whispering Oaks. The rest I’ll acquire. What do you think?” he asked in his Southern drawl that could melt her insides.

  Thinking was impossible, she wanted to shout, but her throat was too parched to speak. Time came to a standstill, and all that mattered was Michael. It’s happening all over again, she thought with a sense of panic.

  The sound of boys laughing forced Michael’s attention away. He stepped into the corridor as Garrett and Shaun came to a screeching halt outside the doorway.

  “We’re ready to work, Dad.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Shaun asked, looking at Rachel with a perplexed expression.

  With a flush staining her cheeks, she brought her hand up to smooth her hair. While Michael gave Garrett and Shaun their instructions, she tried to compose herself enough to make it through the rest of the morning. She and Michael working together was an impossibility that she had to make work, because despite her misgivings, she wanted to design the kitchen.

  When the boys raced away, Michael turned to her. “What do you think about all this?”

  Rachel took the opportunity to move into the hallway. “I like your plans. You’re not biting off too much at once, which is smart. The only thing I want to interject here is if you think I will design a kitchen like the one in this boat’s heyday, then you’d better get someone else.”

  “You mean you don’t want to cook on a wood-burning stove?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Afraid not.”

  “You should use whatever modern conveniences you need. Only the best. I can afford it.”

  She realized they were talking as if she would be the chef. She needed to make it clear that would never happen. “Do you have any idea who you’ll get to be your chef?”

  “No, do you have any suggestions?”

  “You could advertise in the New Orleans and Jackson papers.”

  “That’s a possibility. Or, Rachel, you could be my chef.”

  “No,” she said instantly. “I have my own plans.”

  “I know, but I did want you to know you were the first person I thought of for the job.”

  “Thank you, but the answer is still no,” she murmured and strode toward the main salon. She needed to be around other people before she found herself accepting his job offer.

  She stopped in the doorway and watched her brother and Garrett removing chairs from the room. They were giggling and talking in lowered voices, and she suspected they were talking about her and Michael. The second the boys saw her they clammed up, but they were having a hard time not grinning.

  “How did you two get here?” Rachel asked, hoping to divert their overactive imaginations.

  “Our bikes. We ride everywhere.” Shaun carried a chair outside.

  “Dad, where do you want the lumber?” Garrett picked up the last chair to take to the stern.

  “Put it on the lower deck at the back of the boat.”

  Rachel enjoyed her safety in numbers all of two minutes before the boys disappeared down below and she was left alone with Michael again. She pretended a great interest in the main salon, walking the length of the room, appearing as though she was taking note of the cornices above the windows, the ornamental molding. Her mind, though, wasn’t on her surroundings.

  She was aware of Michael’s every move as he, too, made an inspection of the main salon. She saw him run a hand along the brass fixtures on the counter, then look at her in the large mirror on one wall. He winked.

  A dog barked several times, followed by three splashes. Rachel dragged her gaze away from Michael. “I’d better see what the boys are up to now.” She hurried from the room.

  She looked down and found Garrett and Shaun swimming in the river next to the boat with a big black dog. Leaning on the wood railing, she heard Michael behind her and knew she couldn’t deal with him at the moment. She scurried down the stairs to the bottom deck and bent over the railing, shouting, “Whose dog is that?”

  Shaun treaded water near her. “Don’t know. He just followed us from town.”

  “Does he have a collar?”

  “No. Can I keep him?”

  “I don’t know, Shaun.”

  “Please. Aunt Flora didn’t like dogs. Only cats.”

  “I guess you can until we find out who owns him, then he’ll have to go back to his owner.”

  The whoopee that greeted that announcement could have been heard clear to downtown Magnolia Blossom.

  “I think you’ve totally won Shaun over, and it didn’t take but a few weeks.”

  Rachel tensed. “He’s the easy one. Of course, he won’t be happy when the owner claims the dog.”

  “Maybe he was abandoned.”

  Rachel cocked her head to the side and studied the black Labrador retriever. “No. He’s in great shape. Someone has been taking care of that dog.”

  “Then you can get Shaun one of his own.”

  Rachel faced Michael, who had donned dark sunglasses that kept his eyes hidden. “No. It’s too hard to have a dog in New York City.”

  “Thousands of people do.”

  “I think a dog, especially a big one, should have a yard to run in, not a small apartment.”<
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  “It would be a nice way to allow Shaun to take something from here when he leaves.”

  The sun beat down on her, and she was forced to shield her eyes from the glare. The hot breeze tangled itself in the strands of her hair, whipping them across her face. “You know I shouldn’t be surprised by your advice. That’s what’s so special about small towns. I would appreciate it if I was looking for advice.”

  Shrugging, Michael grinned. “Sorry. You asked me for my help. Part of that help is advice on what is best, in my opinion, for Amy and Shaun. Darlin’, you can’t have it both ways. It’s all or nothing.”

  It always had been that way with them. He’d wanted everything from her, and she hadn’t been able to give that to him. She dug into her purse in search of her sunglasses. “I’ll think about a medium-size dog.”

  “What happens if no one claims this Lab? What are you going to do then?”

  “Give the dog to you as a present?”

  “Nope. I’ve got two already. Don’t need another one.”

  She found her sunglasses and plopped them on her nose. “Then I’ll face that problem when the time comes. I have too many problems ahead of that one to get too concerned at the moment.”

  “Well, then, I’d better warn you that Amy is worse than Shaun when it comes to animals.”

  “She is?”

  “You can always hope the dog is gone before she realizes it’s at your house.”

  Rachel wished she could wipe that grin from his face. He was enjoying her dilemma way too much. “I suppose I could hide him. Since she’s rarely home, it might work.”

  Michael chuckled. “Anything’s possible when you want it bad enough.”

  “Does that sum up your philosophy of life?”

  “Sure does.”

  The dog’s barking drew her attention to the end of the pier. “Are the boys through for the day?”

  “Yep, until I get things started, then I’ll use them more.”

  “Good. I’ll have them follow me home and make posters about the dog. After that, I’ll start working on some preliminary plans for the kitchen. I should be able to show you something in a few days.”

  “I’ll be by to pick up Garrett a little later, then.”

  “Just let him spend the night again.”

  Michael drew himself up straight, his hands flexing at his side. “Can’t do that. I have to take Garrett to Jackson early tomorrow morning.”

  “To see Mary Lou?”

  He nodded, a frown carved deeply into his features.

  “You can pick him up early tomorrow morning. I’m usually up by six.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” Michael murmured, tension threading through his words.

  Michael leaned against the railing and watched as Rachel stopped to talk with Garrett and Shaun. His memories of his relationship with Rachel and his failure to keep his marriage together strengthened his desire not to get involved with Rachel again. Even though he’d always wanted a large family, he wouldn’t put himself through that kind of pain ever again. He just had to remember that over the next few months.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The aroma of coffee brewing greeted Michael when Rachel opened the door to her house. Her hair was wet as if she had just gotten out of the shower. She wore a pair of shorts and a white T-shirt with Born To Cook in big red letters. She looked good to his tired eyes.

  She smiled and gestured for him to come inside. “I hope you’re hungry. The boys are finishing up their blueberry pancakes.”

  Michael yawned. He hadn’t slept the night before. “All I want is a big cup of coffee. Preferably the whole pot.”

  “Now, Michael Hunter, I didn’t get up thirty minutes early just so you could drink coffee and be on your way. You can have at least one of my pancakes.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.”

  “When someone is invited to breakfast, a person has to fix something to serve. Pancakes are easy, and they’re something the boys will eat.”

  “As opposed to beef Wellington?”

  “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “I’m learning. Last night I fixed a pizza, and they didn’t leave one piece.” She headed for the kitchen.

  As Michael entered the room, Garrett jumped out of his chair, downing the rest of his milk in the same motion. “I’m ready, Dad.”

  “But I’m not. Sit. Rachel is making me eat breakfast.”

  “Yeah, did she tell you that it was the most important meal of the day?” Shaun asked while spearing another pancake from the serving platter.

  “No, but I did read that somewhere.”

  “Bet she didn’t have to twist your arm much.” Garrett grinned, displaying his milk mustache.

  “Just about anything Rachel fixed would be tempting.” Michael sat in a chair between the boys.

  “Just about? What won’t you eat?” Rachel handed him a large mug of coffee, then went to the stove to flip the last batch of pancakes.

  “Well, let me see. I was never partial to snails. I’m sure you learned to prepare them in Paris.”

  “Ugh!” Garrett screwed his face into a frown. “Snails? People eat them?”

  “I did learn how to prepare escargot, which is really a fancy name for snails. They are very good.”

  “I think I lost my appetite,” Shaun said, scooting his chair back. “Let’s play a video game until your dad gets ready to leave. First one in the living room gets to choose.”

  “Shaun—” The rest of her sentence would have been spoken to thin air as the boys raced from the room. Rachel shook her head. “Do they even know how to walk? Every time they go someplace it is always a race to see who’ll get there first.”

  “Makes me tired just looking at them.” Michael put several pancakes on his plate, plopped a square of butter on top, then lavished maple syrup all over them. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer.

  Rachel sat in the chair farthest away from him and sipped her coffee. “Will you be all right today?”

  “Yeah,” he said with little conviction.

  “Remember, Garrett loves you. She can’t take that away.”

  He finished his coffee and went to the counter to pour himself more. “When Mary Lou left us, I prayed she would return. I didn’t want Garrett to grow up without a mother like I did. But then Mary Lou didn’t—” He swallowed hard, remembering the nights and days being both mother and father to Garrett.

  “And now you don’t think she has any right to be in Garrett’s life?”

  “Yeah. She chose to leave and find another life. I know in my heart I need to forgive her, but it isn’t easy.”

  “Forgiveness doesn’t always come easily, especially when you’ve been hurt.”

  “I’m more concerned about Garrett’s feelings than mine. He was the one who was hurt.”

  “Are you sure that’s the case?”

  He stabbed her with a narrowed look. “Yes, of course.”

  “Have you forgiven me for leaving you?”

  Silence hung in the air between them, thick, emotion-filled.

  “Have you, Michael?” Suddenly she wanted to know more than anything.

  “I’m trying, Rachel. That’s the best answer I can give you.”

  She tried not to let his words hurt her, but it was hard. “Perhaps you should talk with Reverend Williams. He may be able to help you.”

  Michael didn’t reply but sat down and took a bite of his pancakes. “This is delicious.”

  “Thank you. I never tire of hearing people say that about my cooking,” she said, sad that he was doing what she did so well—avoiding his feelings.

  “Don’t tell Helen, but I think these beat hers.”

  “No way would I say that to her. I value her friendship.”

  “It’s nice to hear you say that.”

  Rachel stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He stuck his fork in the last piece of pancake and brought it to his mouth.

  “I
care about Helen. She’s the best friend I ever had.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I said something I shouldn’t have.” Michael rose, taking his plate and mug to the sink. His head was beginning to throb with tension. He turned to leave.

  She stood in his way. “Maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but it is the way you feel. I may not live here, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t kept in touch with Helen.”

  Michael wanted out of there, but short of physically moving Rachel out of his way, he wasn’t going anywhere. “A card now and then is not keeping in touch.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’ve called her.”

  “Yeah, on her birthday. That’s once a year. And since we’re on the subject, you haven’t done much better with your own sister and brother.”

  Rachel sucked in a deep breath. Lines of anger scored her features. She opened her mouth to say something but then clamped it closed.

  His head ached, and his pulse hammered against his temples in a maddening beat. “This was not a good idea.” He clasped her upper arms and moved her to the side, then he stepped around her and left the kitchen before he made the situation worse.

  “Let’s go, Garrett,” he called, not breaking stride as he headed for the front door.

  He strode to his truck and got in, deliberately keeping his gaze averted from the porch. He could feel Rachel watching him. Tapping a fast rhythm against the steering wheel, he waited for his son to climb into the passenger side, then he backed out of the driveway, barely managing not to screech his tires.

  His son must have sensed his mood. He remained quiet as they drove out of town. “Are you mad at Rachel?” Garrett finally asked when they were on the highway to Jackson.

  “What makes you think that, son?”

  “Gee, Dad, maybe the way you left her place.”

  Michael’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “We had words. Nothing important.”

  Garrett stared out the side window. “Dad, Mom wants me to come visit more now that she lives so near.”

  The words tore at Michael’s heart. For years Garrett had been the center of his life. Now he had to share his son with Mary Lou. Mary Lou’s timing was awful—not that there would ever be a great time to give up custody of his son, but with Rachel back in town his emotions had taken a beating.