Her Hopes and Dreams (Ardent Springs Book 4)

by Terri Osburn

  “Thank you,” Carrie said. “I don’t need a man.”

  “But,” Snow continued, “you deserve a man who wants to make you happy. In fact, you deserve that more than anyone.”

  Lorelei pointed at Snow. “That’s what I meant. You deserve a good guy.”

  “I walked away from a good guy.”

  “A guy that you’re about to marry,” Snow said to Lorelei. “Which always makes these conversations feel weird.”

  “There’s nothing weird about it,” Lorelei argued, which earned her two skeptical stares. “Okay, weirdness abounds, but forget the past. We’re talking about the future here. A future with a man in it.”

  Dropping a hand on Carrie’s arm, Snow said, “I’ve got this one. Lorelei. Honey. We understand that you want everyone to be as disgustingly happy as you are. We really do. And we love you for it. But you’ve got to chill out, girlfriend. I know that’s a tall order with the wedding right around the corner, but try. For us. What do you say?”

  “But she—” Snow held up a hand, cutting off Lorelei’s argument. Surrendering, she turned to Carrie. “Just promise me one thing. Never say never.”

  Considering she was only thirty, Carrie didn’t think that was too much to ask. “How about this? Maybe, someday, far off in the future,” she specified, “if I meet the right guy, I’ll think about giving him a chance.”

  Lorelei threw her hands in the air while Snow cracked up laughing.

  “Speaking of the wedding,” Carrie said, “does the shower still start at one on Saturday?”

  “Yep,” Snow answered. “Inside the newly renovated lobby of the Ruby Theater. In addition, or in lieu of gifts, donations to the cause are appreciated.”

  A one-screen movie house that a year ago had been on the verge of being condemned, the Ruby Theater had been saved by a group of locals, including Lorelei and Spencer, who’d dedicated countless hours to the cause. It was only right that they launch their marriage in epic renovated-theater style. Especially since Lorelei had chased the acting dream for a dozen years before returning to town.

  Though the theater had been cosmetically and structurally restored, they still lacked the funds for the technology needed to make the screen operational again. For now, the owners had granted the restoration committee permission to rent the space for social functions.

  “Then I’ll be there at noon to help decorate.” Carrie collected her purse and nibbled-on cupcake. “I need to get back to the office.”

  “Hey,” Lorelei said. “Never say never.”

  If nothing else, Carrie admired Lorelei’s optimistic outlook. Especially considering her less-than-positive past where Ardent Springs was concerned.

  “I agreed to ‘someday, maybe.’ That’s as good as you’ll get.”

  Carrie could still hear Lorelei fussing behind her as the bells jingled over her head. Someday, maybe, she repeated in her mind. Even that seemed far-fetched at the moment. And then she climbed into her car and spotted the shelter blueprints on her passenger seat. “Don’t even think about it,” she muttered, securing the cupcake in a cup holder before starting the car.

  Chapter 4

  After a lengthy shelter meeting with Meredith Mitchner, racing to pick up Molly before the church day care closed, and then stopping for diapers and a replacement teether for the one mysteriously lost in her backseat, Carrie nearly forgot to deliver the blueprints to Noah. When she did remember, seven o’clock had come and gone and Molly slept soundly in her crib. Thanks to having the outgoing messages with Noah’s number still in her phone, Carrie tried to call him to come get the plans. And because the universe hated her, he didn’t answer.

  Noah needed the blueprints to be ready for the job first thing in the morning. She had assured Meredith no fewer than three times that the work would start immediately and the target date would be met with no problem. Carrie would rather have her kneecap removed without anesthesia than face the wrath of the Mitchner matriarch because she hadn’t sprinted across a yard to deliver some rolled-up sheets of paper.

  But what if Molly woke up while she was gone? Not that she’d be gone long. And Molly was sound asleep. As her maternal instincts warred with her fear of Meredith, Carrie spotted the baby monitor. Those things had a really long reach, right? She could carry it with her, and if Molly woke up, Carrie could rush back.

  Clipping the monitor to her jeans pocket, she grabbed her keys and hurried to retrieve the plans from the car. Cylinder in hand, she high-stepped through the damp grass, leaving the gate open behind her, and headed for Noah’s front door. When he didn’t answer, she faced another dilemma. His porch wasn’t far from Molly’s room at this end of the trailer. But if Noah wasn’t inside, he was likely in the barn out back, which was a greater distance.

  Committed to the mission, Carrie jogged off the porch and around the house. The sun painted orange and gold stripes along the horizon line, but it did nothing to illuminate her path. As she approached the barn entrance, loud rock music filled the air. Carrie could barely make out the words, which the lead singer screamed with brutal intensity. One line of the chorus came through loud and clear.

  Something about middle fingers and not giving a fuck. Nice.

  Raw aggression mixed with a heavy beat created a sound that fit Noah perfectly. Except when he smiled. He wasn’t nearly as scary when he smiled.

  Stepping into the dim glow of two hanging bulbs, Carrie found Noah with his back to the door. She yelled his name, but the volume on the radio had her beat by several decibels. Knocking on the inside of the large swinging door didn’t help either. Seeing no other option, Carrie stepped forward to tap him on the shoulder, but the moment her finger connected with solid muscle, the man spun around and slammed a forearm across her throat, lifting her off the ground and propelling her backward. He moved with her, eyes wild as her back hit the one closed door.

  Carrie dropped the plans to claw at the arm cutting off her air supply. She tried to cry out, but her voice box produced nothing. Noah panted, brown eyes unblinking behind the strands of dark hair covering half his face. The moment fire raced through her starving lungs, the arm dropped away and Noah backpedaled, stopping when he reached the far wall, and then dropping to the ground.

  Dragging in giant gulps of air, Carrie’s brain screamed for her to run, but she needed working lungs to do that. Chest burning, she lifted her eyes to see Noah still huddled on the dirt floor, his entire body shaking. This wasn’t the action of an angry man. Carrie had seen rage and brutality. This was something different. In fact, Noah looked as traumatized as she felt. Searching the area for the source of the noise, she spotted a small speaker on the workbench to her right. Carrie yanked the short black cord out of the player, and the music cut off.

  Blessed silence. And then she heard it. Crying.

  Against the back wall, Noah’s head hung low between his knees as his entire body rocked forward and back. Without thinking, Carrie closed the distance between them, stopping just out of his reach.

  “Noah?” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Noah, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  His head shook, sending thick locks swinging.

  “I shouldn’t have surprised you,” she said, recognizing the signs of PTSD. She’d read up on the disorder after several episodes of her own. Jumping at unexpected sounds. Experiencing intense fight-or-flight instincts, hers always taking the flight route. Clearly, Noah’s instinct had gone the opposite way. Dropping to her knees, she leaned forward. “Take some deep breaths. In and out. Real slow.”

  Lifting his head, Noah shoved the hair out of his face and wiped his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

  Carrie would have a hard-to-explain bruise, and he’d scared several years off her life, but to her own surprise, she felt more like the attacker than the attackee.

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” she said. “I couldn’t think of any other way to get your attention.”

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked again.

  Running a hand al
ong her throat, she said, “You cut off my air for a few seconds, but there’s no permanent damage.”

  “Dammit,” Noah mumbled, brown eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I thought I had it under control.”

  “You have a condition, Noah. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked, straightening a leg past her knee.

  Learning his secret didn’t mean she had to share her own. “I’ve done some research in preparation for opening the shelter.”

  “I suppose getting knocked around by some asshole could leave a person shell-shocked.”

  To put it lightly.

  Carrie rested a hand on his shin. “Are you okay?”

  Heavy brows drew together. “Why are you still here? Why didn’t you run? I tried to kill you.”

  A reality she didn’t want to think about. There had been times, in the months before Patch had died, when Carrie had truly feared for her life. While dangling in Noah’s grip, she’d revisited that fear. A fact that had her asking the same questions of herself.

  “I don’t know,” she said with total honesty. “You were shaking. I couldn’t leave you like that.”

  “You need to learn some self-preservation skills.” Noah held out a hand, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. “I promise I won’t hurt you again,” he said. “You can trust me.”

  Despite what had just happened, she believed him. Carrie pressed her palm against his and was lifted off the floor as he rose to his feet. They stood less than a foot apart, dust swirling around them. Noah lowered his head and trailed a finger down her throat.

  “That’s going to bruise,” he said, voice filled with remorse. “I’d never hurt you on purpose. You have to know that.”

  Nodding, Carrie murmured, “I know.” Which made no sense at all. He had hurt her. And yet, she wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, she didn’t want to leave him. Not with anguish and regret still clouding his eyes. With a smile, she said, “The next time, I’ll keep my distance and throw something at your head.”

  A callused thumb traced along her jawline. “God, I love that smile,” he said. “I really am sorry, Carrie. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through something that turned you into that.” She wrapped a gentle hand around his wrist. “The scars that people don’t see are the hardest ones to heal.”

  “Do they ever heal?” he asked, eyes dropping to her lips.

  “I hope so,” she replied as his head lowered to hers. Carrie’s heart sped with anticipation as his hand caressed her cheek. His breath feathered across her lips less than a second before a baby’s cry filled the night.

  Carrie sprung backward. “Oh my God. Molly.”

  “Where is she?” Noah asked, confused by the crying that sounded as if it were coming through an old radio.

  “She’s in bed.” Picking up what looked like a white walkie-talkie, she said, “I have to go.” On her way to the door, she pointed toward something on the floor. “The plans for the shelter are over there by the bench. That’s why I came down here.”

  “I’ll get them,” he replied. “Go get your little girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, though Noah couldn’t be sure what the apology was for.

  Sorry that she’d come down here? Sorry that she had to leave? Either way, the crying tot had saved them both from making a big mistake.

  Noah lifted the plans off the floor before crossing to the doorway to watch Carrie hurry through her side gate. He hadn’t lost control like that since going off the meds. Guess he hadn’t come as far as he’d thought. Her neck would be two shades of purple by morning, and yet, she’d treated him as the victim, not the lunatic who’d tried to kill her. Compassion mixed with that smile had acted like a magnet, pulling him to her.

  That was the downside to avoiding people. A man had needs, and at some point, his hand didn’t cut it anymore. That’s what this sudden attraction to Carrie had to be about—basic human needs. She was the first woman he’d had extended contact with in months. The same would have happened no matter who lived next door. Only Carrie wasn’t just anyone. She was his friend’s widow and a woman with a history of infidelity.

  Two immediate strikes against her. Their new working relationship qualified as strike three, and that meant Noah would be keeping his bat in his pants for the foreseeable future. He also needed to work on his metaphors.

  The hit of adrenaline continued to simmer through his bloodstream, so Noah decided to call it a night. He had blueprints to review. After retrieving his phone, he switched off the lights and made his way back to the house. It wasn’t until he’d grabbed a soda from the fridge and found himself horizontal on the old hand-me-down couch that Noah realized he still had Carrie on the brain.

  Could still smell her sweet shampoo. Feel the heat of her palm against his. Taste her breath on his lips.

  “Well, shit,” he grumbled, sitting up. After running a hand through his hair, he took a long draw from the plastic bottle and tried to clear his mind. “She isn’t for you, man,” he said aloud. “You’ve got enough problems already.”

  Moving from the couch to the kitchen, he spread the blueprints across the table. With this job done as soon as possible, he could sever any ties with the woman next door. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Two minutes into the review, Noah wanted to growl in frustration. The project had a ten-week deadline. He wanted it done in eight. Based on the plans, they’d be lucky to open the doors after the first of the year.

  It was times like these that Noah wished he still drank something a hell of a lot harder than the carbonated stuff in his hand.

  Molly had not been traumatized by waking to find her mother missing. In fact, she had no idea that Carrie hadn’t been in the next room. Her mother, however, had yet to recover. Four days had passed since the encounter in the barn. The encounter that had gone from terrifying to heart-wrenching to oddly comforting. If she let her mind wander back to that night, Carrie could still feel the tingle on her lips from the almost kiss.

  Discovering Noah’s secret had changed everything. One minute he’d been the big, scary neighbor passing judgment on the sinner next door, and in the blink of an eye, or rather, the blur of a choke hold, he’d become a kindred spirit. Though, looking back, the transition had begun earlier in the day. Not that finding a man adamantly opposed to domestic violence equated to finding a unicorn with a pot of gold or the perfect butt-lifting pair of jeans, but the revelation felt monumental all the same. Likely because, as a friend of Patch, Noah, deservedly or not, suffered from guilt by association.

  At least in Carrie’s mind.

  As much as she loved her friends, none of them understood what she’d endured. Their lives weren’t perfect, but, lucky for them, had been free of the kind of violence Carrie had witnessed and endured from a young age. The few years with Spencer had been a respite, until she’d lost their baby and spiraled into an abyss of blame and anger, all aimed at herself. Losing Jeremy had confirmed the truth—Spencer had been too good for her. She’d clearly never deserved him. She couldn’t even carry a baby to term without her body betraying them all.

  The moment the doctor announced that Jeremy had died—been strangled by the very lifeline that connected them—the soul-sucking soundtrack of her life had echoed in Carrie’s ears.

  You’re nothing but a useless piece of trash.

  No one will ever want you.

  Why can’t you ever do anything right?

  Sabotaging the marriage had been the logical next step. She hadn’t possessed the strength to walk away, so she gave Spencer a reason to hate her. Patch had been the complete opposite of her husband. Where Spencer charmed, Patch’s teasing bordered on mean. Her first husband smiled all the time, while Patch snarled and complained. In the end, she’d picked a man exactly like her father. A move that made her cringe at its predictability.

  Even once the abuse had started, Carrie convinced herself that she deserved it.
She was useless, after all. She’d lost a baby and cheated on her husband and burned the pancakes. And her penance had been the occasional black eye or busted lip. At her lowest, she even believed that she’d gotten off easy. Patch hadn’t broken any of her bones or burned her with his smelly cigars. Those were the kinds of things her mother had faced. All the while making the same excuses Carrie had made for Patch.

  Carrie wasn’t that woman anymore. She would never again tolerate being any man’s punching bag, but that didn’t mean she could be trusted to pick a better man. Words cut as deeply as a razor blade. What if she chose someone who never touched her in anger, but sliced her self-esteem all the same? No, she’d stay single forever before letting herself wade into those waters again.

  Much of her newfound fortitude had come from books. She didn’t talk about her experiences, but reading about others and how they’d recovered gave her the strength to help herself.

  And now she could give that strength to someone else.

  Parking her car before the camp entrance, she cut the engine and watched Noah’s crew file out of the building. She’d purposely planned this visit for lunchtime in order not to interrupt the work in progress. Though her trip to the barn hadn’t been all bad, Carrie preferred not to repeat the experience. Hearing Molly’s cry through the monitor had been as heart-stopping as Noah’s outburst, and she didn’t want to relive either. That meant doing this at a neutral location.

  “Hey there,” she said as Noah stepped out last. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  Understandably hesitant, he waved off the other workers. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.” To Carrie he said, “Does Mike need something?”

  Considering they hadn’t seen each other since the night in the barn, he could have at least asked how she was. Or if Molly was okay.

  “No, I’m not here on business. I have something for you.” She leaned into the car and lifted a beige tote from the passenger seat. “These are for you.”

  Noah took the bag and spread the handles to peer inside. “Books?”