In This Together

by Patti Berg

  Not good.

  She’d never put flowers there, not beside a stack of magazines and definitely not when the sun poured through that window in the late afternoon. The heat had a tendency to bake roses and any other flowers she’d put there, and the near-blinding glare made them impossible to see them anyway.

  “Why don’t we put them on the table at the end of the sofa instead? They’ll still get some sunlight, and there’s less chance of the vase getting knocked over if Howie gets a little rambunctious.”

  Heath shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

  Heath moved the vase again, and a wave of guilt washed over Candace. Heath had suggested a crystal vase; she’d asked for a simple green glass one. He set the vase where almost anyone else would have put it; she decided it would be better elsewhere. This was his house now, not just hers. She hoped he understood that. The last thing she wanted was for him to move around the house on pins and needles, afraid of doing something she didn’t like.

  “You know,” she said, grabbing the vase again, “I think you had it right the first time. The roses will look better on top of the bookcase.”

  Heath grinned, shaking his head as if she’d just said something funny—or was being silly—and swept the feather duster up from the floor. He whisked away a few specks of dust she’d missed, then repositioned the picture frames on top of the piano, not in their right places, of course, but she wouldn’t say a thing. Next time he left the room, she’d put them back where they belonged.

  Oh, goodness, she was doing it again.

  It’s Heath’s house too, she chastised herself. She had to remember that.

  “It’s awfully quiet around here,” Heath said, heading back to the kitchen again. “Where are the kids?”

  “Out with my mom. They’re doing fast food and then going to see the original The Parent Trap with Hayley Mills at the old Fox Theater.”

  “On a school night?” Heath asked, popping the top on a can of orange soda.

  “They’ll be home by nine,” Candace answered, as Heath sat on the piano bench and pulled her down onto his lap. “You don’t think that’s too late, do you?”

  Heath hit her with a lopsided grin. “Brooke reads under the covers till nearly midnight, so I suppose it doesn’t matter where she’s concerned. But I’m new at this being-a-dad thing. You tell me. Is nine too late for a seven-year-old like Howie?”

  “Probably an hour too late, but”—Candace laughed—“I’ll be at work when you’re struggling to get him up in the morning, so you can deal with his whining.”

  Heath’s brow rose, and she could see the laughter in his eyes. “Thanks a lot. I can hear it now: ‘No, no, I don’t want to get up, let me sleep.’”

  Candace nodded, stifling the chuckle that his imitation of Howie had brought on, and looked at her new husband more sincerely. “Do you mind?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the least. I couldn’t love Brooke and Howie any more if they were my own flesh and blood. I’d do anything for them…and for you.”

  Heath kissed her lightly, lovingly, and Candace sighed again. She had to be the luckiest woman on earth, meeting a man like Heath, falling in love with him, having him fall in love with her, and ending up married.

  “So what do you want to do tonight?” she asked. “Now that the kids are gone and we can do whatever we want.”

  “Do we have to do something?” Heath asked, taking a sip of soda. “Can’t we just snuggle up on the couch and watch TV?”

  “We could, but…” Candace reluctantly pushed out of Heath’s lap and crossed the room. She pulled a book from the bookcase and held it up, displaying the bright and shiny silver-and-white cover with raised black lettering. “I was reading this earlier. It’s a book someone—I think it might have been one of your friends in Radiology—gave us as a wedding present. Advice for the Newlywed Wife. Apparently we’re supposed to go on dates at least three times a week, and I don’t think we’ve been on more than three dates in the past month.”

  “Do you want to go out more?”

  “Well…I thought I was perfectly happy, but apparently I should be even happier. And I’m supposed to make you even more happy by surprising you two of those three times a week.”

  Heath leaned back against the piano “How?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Candace flipped to one of the pages she’d marked with a plastic paper clip. “A skydiving expedition is number one on the list, followed by tickets to a professional sports game.”

  “I could handle either one of those things.” Heath grinned. “Of course, either one of those things would also set us back a few hundred bucks. Not that I’m cheap, but I read somewhere that money doesn’t grow on trees, and I long ago learned that’s true.”

  “There are cheaper date night ideas.” Candace flipped through a few more pages, until she reached the “20 Dates for Under 20 Bucks” section. “It says here we should spread a blanket on the floor in the living room and have a picnic or go out for hot dogs, then play miniature golf or bowl.”

  “Bowling sounds good.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I helped deliver two babies today. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m dead on my feet. Could we do it Saturday?”

  “There’s a ball game on TV Saturday. I was thinking we could get chips and dip and ice cream and just hang out in the family room all day.”

  Candace put her hands on her hips, but smiled as she shook her head in mock frustration. “Don’t be difficult, Heath Carlson. This book says I’m supposed to come up with entertaining things for us to do together. Just the two of us.”

  Heath waved Candace toward him. When she was close, he took the book out of her hands and tossed it across the room. “Why don’t we just sit on the couch and talk, maybe go out for a hamburger later? And if you really, honestly, and truly want to do something fun, we can throw that book in the trash.”

  Candace smiled. “Really?”

  “Really.” Heath pulled her down beside him. “Bowling sounds fun. So do skydiving and watching pro sports, but,” he said, with a wink and a quick kiss, “just sitting here holding you close is a good enough date in my book.”

  Candace couldn’t agree more.

  Chapter Seven

  IT HAD BEEN TWO LONG DAYS SINCE CANDACE HAD given Anabelle the souvenir from her honeymoon, and for two long days Anabelle had wanted to spend time thinking about what she could make with the fabric, but free time had abandoned her. The CCU had been so terribly busy that she’d had to take her paperwork home at night. That was the bane of her existence, but something she’d had to do from time to time. That was a supervisor’s lot in life, she supposed.

  And, of course, she’d told Elena she’d help her out with the Walk for a Cure, taking on the responsibility of coordinating the Paint the Town Purple event. She hadn’t planned on volunteering for anything other than church work for the rest of the year, but Elena was on overload too. She couldn’t let her friend sink under the weight of her work, and Elena had nearly cried when Anabelle had offered to help.

  She was worried about her friend, but Elena said she was fine, and Anabelle wanted to believe her.

  Now, at long last, she had a few spare hours, which was absolute heaven.

  Standing over the cutting table in her home’s upstairs sewing studio, she stretched out the beautiful batik fabric. It contained all the colors of a glorious sunrise, reminding her of a perfect Easter morning. All day she’d imagined the quilted wall hanging she’d make, an heirloom piece depicting an Easter sunrise service, with appliquéd tulips and lilies, bunnies and chicks, and a glorious cross beaming in the rays of the rising sun.

  The big question was: Would she keep the finished wall hanging for herself, or give it to one of her children or even a friend? That was always a dilemma, since she fell in love with each of her projects. Of course, how could she give this one away, when the fabric itself was a special gift from a special friend?

 
; Settled. The quilted Easter sunrise would be hers and hers alone.

  Sarge, the lovable brown-and-white mutt she’d rescued from the pound a couple of years ago, when he was just a pup, lay under the cutting table, keeping Anabelle company. His tail thumped three times on the floor, as if he heartily agreed with her decision. Good dog!

  With her sketchbook already open, she grabbed a pencil and started to work on her design, beginning with the sun rising over the horizon—she might make it out of a dark golden or bright orange satin or, better yet, taffeta, which had more texture and would call attention to the main features on the piece.

  The clock on the wall ticked quietly. Seven o’clock was suddenly seven thirty and she looked at the bunnies and chicks she’d sketched. “These are all wrong,” she said out loud. “Totally out of place.”

  Sarge popped out from beneath the cutting table. With one ear standing at attention and the other drooping at half-mast, he tilted his head. His big brown eyes looked at Anabelle with what had to be a questioning frown, either that or he thought she’d lost her mind. Talking to herself was absolutely crazy.

  Anabelle stroked his sweet little head.

  “Why don’t we go downstairs, boy?” she said, when he rubbed against her leg. “I’ll get you one of the oatmeal and peanut butter cookies I made especially for you, and I’ll drag out some of my quilting magazines to see if I can come up with a better idea.”

  “Talking to yourself?”

  Sarge bounced away from Anabelle and jumped up, paws resting flat on Cam’s chest, begging to have his belly, or any other part of his body, rubbed.

  “Sarge and I thought we’d take a break.”

  Cam’s solid gray mustache twitched. “Good, because Evan just pulled into the drive, and I think Maureen and the kids are with him.”

  If anything could make Anabelle forget about quilting, it was family. She loved her son; she thought Maureen was simply wonderful and hoped and prayed the two of them would get married…soon. But children—nothing made her happier.

  “Great. I know we saw them just a few days ago, but it seems like ages,” she said, skirting around her husband and nearly tripping over Sarge, who’d decided to prance along at her side as she headed downstairs to the kitchen. She was just taking out a pot to make her special hot cocoa when Evan came through the kitchen door carrying little Olivia, with Maureen and Jacob following right behind, trailing in specks of crushed autumn leaves that scattered across the floor. Not that Anabelle cared. She’d longed to have kids running through the house again. She loved her husband. She adored Sarge. But the patter of little feet? That was sheer heaven.

  The patter started right away, with Jacob and Olivia giggling and chasing Sarge from the kitchen to the living room, where she could hear the kids digging into the crayons and puzzles she’d bought for whenever the little ones visited. And the more often they visited, the happier she and Cameron would be.

  “Retire,” Cam had told her a few nights ago, “and you can spend even more time with the kids. You can teach Olivia and Lindsay Belle how to sew and take them shopping for sparkly shoes and little girl dresses, and…” He’d gone on and on, but Anabelle was adamant. She didn’t want to retire. Not yet.

  She loved her job far too much.

  But…the thought was tempting.

  While Anabelle made cocoa, Maureen cut the homemade loaf of pumpkin bread she’d brought, and Evan sat down at the kitchen table, looking up at his dad. “Think you could help Maureen and me put together a maze in the back of the nursery?”

  Anabelle turned to see Cam frown as he sat down across the table from Evan. “Maze?”

  “Yeah.” Evan nodded. “We’ve been hashing out one idea after another on how to make extra money, since work’s going to slow down in December and January.”

  “That’s true,” Cam said. “When you and your sisters were young, your mom and I had to scrimp and save to make it through the winter.”

  “We know it’s a tough time of year,” Evan admitted, “but we hope we won’t have to pinch pennies.”

  “Saving’s another matter completely,” Maureen stated. “That’s a necessity all year long.”

  Anabelle was really starting to love this young woman who’d been hired to help Evan and was now working with him side by side. She was a wonder. A godsend.

  “So, tell us about this maze,” Anabelle said, as she ladled cocoa into cups—big mugs for the adults and small cartoon-character cups for the kids.

  “It’s made out of straw bales and the design’s fairly intricate, but not so tough that kids will get completely lost.” Maureen slid the plate of pumpkin bread onto the table, along with napkins so everyone could help themselves. “We’ll have signs and clues inside the maze to make it a little easier and even more fun. And the best part of all, we can get the bales pretty cheap from a farmer in Wyanet.”

  “Which is good,” Evan said, “since we’ll need quite a few of them.”

  Cam scratched his head. “You’ve lost me here. Why do you want to put a maze behind the nursery?”

  “It’s part of the pumpkin patch we’re planning.” Evan opened the notebook resting on the table in front of him, revealing numerous pencil sketches. “I’m picking up pumpkins next Wednesday, and we have newspaper ads running three times next week to announce all the activities for kids and adults.”

  “It’s a way of drawing more customers in. We’ll not only have the maze and face painting on weekends, but a ton of pumpkins to choose from all week long.” Maureen picked up a piece of pumpkin bread. “We’re going to scatter the pumpkins all around the nursery and inside the garden center too. Some will be decorated, some will be plain, and some will have a special sticker on them; and whoever finds the specially marked pumpkins will get a prize.”

  “A one-gallon mum,” Evan added. “Who wouldn’t want to win one? You’ve seen how beautiful our selection is this year.”

  Cam nodded. “Do you have a layout for this maze and other strong backs to help you put it together?”

  “Yeah,” Evan said, “but if you could drive the tractor and help move around some of the bales, that would be great.”

  “I could do that. I might even have some old scarecrow clothes out in the barn.”

  “And we have a bunch of wheelbarrows that we could bring over and fill with pumpkins. I could decorate them too.” Anabelle looked at Maureen, hoping she wasn’t all of a sudden stepping on toes. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

  “Of course not. I’ve been pulling my hair trying to figure out how we can get everything done in just over a week, so we’ll take all the help we can get.”

  “I wish we’d come up with this idea sooner, so we’d have more time to put everything together,” Evan said, “but we’ve been busy getting the new inventory into the garden center. And we’re already thinking about Christmas shoppers, putting together ideas to bring them in to buy bird feeders and statuary and sundials and all sorts of things. Hopefully when people are inside looking for the marked pumpkins, they’ll also look at our gift selection.”

  “We’re trying to get the Web site updated before Thanksgiving too,” Maureen said, her eyes bright, filled with excitement, just as Evan’s were. “We’d love to get some online customers.”

  Anabelle was impressed, but still she laughed. “You aren’t overdoing it, are you?”

  “Maybe.” Evan chuckled and slid his hand across the table, linking his fingers through Maureen’s. “But it’s what we both want.”

  It’s what we both want. Anabelle liked the sound of those words. They were definitely an item, a couple; and maybe, just maybe, they’d be married someday.

  Anabelle smiled. Just imagine—a third daughter and two additional grandchildren. That meant more birthday parties and more Christmas presents and even more people gathered around the table for Thanksgiving. Yes, she could definitely live with that.

  Chapter Eight

  DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE PUMPKIN PATCH SCOTT Landscapin
g is putting together?” Elena asked Sarah Thursday evening as they stood in Elena’s kitchen, getting ready to make her mother’s special recipe for corn bread muffins.

  “I did! Jacob told me and the kids at school all about it,” Izzy said, running into the kitchen. Elena thought her granddaughter was in her bedroom playing with her dolls, that she could ask about the pumpkin patch without Izzy hearing and getting excited at the possibility of going. But, no, Izzy had an incredible knack for surprising her. Elena was grateful she and Sarah weren’t talking about something little ears shouldn’t hear.

  “Mommy and Daddy said they’d take me, and I’m going to get my face painted—with butterflies and bluebirds—and we’re going to search for the mystery pumpkin so we can win a pot of flowers for you. Mommy told me what they’re called, but it’s a big word that’s hard to say.”

  “Chrysanthemum,” Elena told her. “And if you win, I like the bright yellow ones the best.”

  “We’ll remember that.” Sarah tied one of Elena’s aprons around her waist. “So where do we begin on this corn bread?”

  “The recipe’s pretty simple.” Elena grabbed canisters filled with white flour, cornmeal, and sugar out of her well-stocked pantry, happy that Sarah had wanted to learn how to make yet another one of her family’s favorite foods. “My mother claims the recipe is an old family secret, like the sweet tamales I’ve already taught you how to make, but I’m certain she copied it from a magazine.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sarah laughed lightly. “Your mother’s amazing. Pretty darn enterprising.”

  Elena had been thinking the same thing about Sarah. She’d come a long way since she’d come back into their lives. Not only had she become a great mom, but she’d also worked so hard in Hope Haven’s cafeteria, learning everything that she possibly could, that she’d already been promoted to supervisor. There was no telling how high she could climb at the hospital.