by Melissa Tagg
Until finally the rest of what Jenessa had said pushed past the fog.
“Wait, a town meeting? Tonight?”
7
How in the world was Mara supposed to stand up in front of Maple Valley’s town leaders and make an eloquent speech asking for grant funds if she couldn’t, well, stand?
“I can’t wear these shoes, Jenessa.” She closed the passenger-side door of the newspaperwoman’s classic convertible and took a wobbled step onto the curb. “High heels and I—we don’t go together.”
No matter if they did look perfect with the gray pencil skirt she wore—also on loan from Jenessa—and her own blue scoop-necked sweater.
Jenessa moved around the car to join Mara on the sidewalk under the glow of a brass streetlamp. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for the shoes. They’re a hundred times better than those canvas things you were wearing earlier, and they’ll give you confidence when you’re up in front of half the town.”
“Heels only give confidence to women who can actually walk in them.” And were that many people really going to be here this evening? Was that why they’d had to park almost two blocks from the restaurant hosting tonight’s gathering? Someplace called The Red Door—probably the lit-up building down on the corner. The one surrounded by vehicles.
“I didn’t realize there’d be a crowd.”
“There’s not much for weeknight entertainment around here.” Jenessa shrugged. “Town meetings are basically social hour.”
A breeze danced through the quaint town center, swaying the nimble limbs of the saplings that dotted the square and twirling an empty flower basket that hung from a lamppost. The white, burnished light of a full moon backlit the wispiest of clouds in a midnight sky.
A gorgeous night after a frenzied day.
It’d been eight hours since Jenessa had swept into the Everwood and announced that she’d secured Mara a spot on tonight’s agenda. Mara still hadn’t caught her breath. She’d gone from getting Lucas, Jenessa’s friend, checked in to preparing a presentation for the meeting. She’d reread all the Maple Valley brochures in the lobby display case, practically memorized the town’s event calendar, and practiced at least a dozen different introductions.
But what would a well-worded introduction matter when she didn’t have an operating budget or business plan yet?
“I’m not prepared for this,” she said, teetering as she stopped midway down the sidewalk. “Shouldn’t I wait until the next town meeting? How can I get up there and ask for ten or twenty or thirty thousand dollars when I can’t provide a revenue and expense chart or—”
Jenessa laced her arm through Mara’s to steady her. “I’m telling you, Mara, these people—the mayor and all the rest of them—they aren’t going to care about charts or spreadsheets. Facts, numbers, and logic aren’t the key to winning this crowd over. It’s all about your joie de vivre and town spirit.”
And her shoes, apparently.
Jenessa had insisted on accompanying Mara to the meeting. She’d stopped at the Everwood an hour ago to pick up Mara, but when she’d seen the basic khakis and button-down Mara had been wearing, she’d insisted on a wardrobe change. And she’d just happened to have the skirt and heels with her.
Just happened. Right.
They drew closer to the lights of The Red Door. From the outside, it was obvious the historic building had once been a bank, with its white block cement walls and the words FIRST NATIONAL BANK etched in stone above the bright entrance. The inside must have been renovated.
“Come on,” Jenessa said, tugging her along. “I told Sam to save us a couple seats, but we’re going to be late if we don’t pick up the pace. We spent too much time dawdling at the B&B.”
Because Mara had been stalling . . . hoping Marshall would show up.
She’d barely seen the man since their little adventure in the den this morning. He’d spent most of the day working in the lobby.
This afternoon, though, he’d slipped a paper underneath her bedroom door. A to-do list, just like he’d promised, with a scribbled note at the bottom. “See? No willy-nilly-ness. Going into town to take care of Item #3 now.”
Item #3: Replacing the front door the storm had ruined.
It’d made her laugh at the time, but that was hours ago. She would’ve thought he’d have returned in time for the meeting.
That is, if he meant to return at all. Maybe the enormity of what they’d set out to do had finally dawned on him, and he’d hightailed it. The thought stung more than it should. It wasn’t like they were dear friends. And the Everwood wasn’t his responsibility, after all.
“Now, you’ll remember everything I said?” Jenessa’s voice cut in, her purse bumping against her hip as she power-walked down the sidewalk. “About all the fairs and festivals and other town events Maple Valley hosts every summer that bring visitors to town? Actually, make that spring, summer, and fall. We even have a few winter shenanigans. We had an ice maze a couple of years ago, and there’s always a Christmas festival too.”
“I’ll remember.”
“And remind them how much we need the Everwood. We have antique stores and cute landmarks coming out of our ears but not one hotel.”
Her feet ached as she tried to match Jenessa’s pace. “I know.”
“And—”
“If we don’t slow down, I’m going to twist an ankle, and you’ll be stuck carrying me to that meeting.”
Jenessa laughed as she halted. “It’d be a grand entrance, at least.”
Mara slipped free of the shoes and bent to pick them up. “Ah, freedom.” Though the sidewalk felt like ice under her bare feet. But at least her leggings kept her calves from freezing, too. She caught up to Jenessa, and they hurried to the restaurant. “You know, I still don’t understand why you’re helping me.”
“Eh, I could use a good front-page story for next week’s edition of the Maple Valley News. A town newcomer out to save the spooky old B&B should do the trick.”
“Hmm, not as altruistic as I thought.”
Jenessa laughed and took the steps up to the restaurant entrance two at a time. But she paused at the top, fingers wrapped around the door handle. “Actually, if you want to know the truth, the day we met at the bakery, I saw you through the window before you came in. You looked lost. And lonely. And like you could use a friend. So here I am.”
Jenessa pulled open the door, but instead of the sound of voices and clinking dishes, it was the warmth of Jenessa’s honesty that drifted over Mara. Her kindness.
It reminded her of Lenora.
And it made Mara wish she hadn’t spent so much time living on the edge of Maple Valley without really being a part of the town. If she’d ventured in more often, maybe those five weeks without Lenora wouldn’t have felt so bleak. She might’ve found friends. Could’ve visited one of those cute little tourist spots she read about in the brochures.
Well, it wasn’t too late for that. As long as she could save the Everwood, that is, and secure her place here.
“I should’ve known you’d be barefoot.”
Mara dropped a shoe as she spun on the middle stair to see Marshall strolling toward The Red Door.
“I’ll go in and find our seats,” Jenessa said from the doorway.
Mara nodded and as the door closed and the restaurant chatter faded, relief skittered through her, as buoyant as the muted strains of music that floated from inside. “They’re Jenessa’s shoes,” she blurted when Marshall reached her. “Well, not so much shoes as deathtraps.”
Marshall crouched to retrieve the lone heel, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he rose. “Your deathtrap, ma’am,” he said with a gallant drawl.
The tips of his hair were damp and he smelled of cedar and soap. The slant of light from the restaurant angled over his bristled face, illuminating long eyelashes, the slope of his nose, and the faintest lines at the corners of his eyes.
And maybe too a hovering hint of tiredness.
“You’re here,”
she finally said.
“The local hardware store didn’t have everything I was looking for, so I ended up going to Ames. Took longer than I thought. I would’ve called but I don’t have your number. I ran back to the Everwood to clean up, but you were already gone.” He rubbed his fingers against his temple as he spoke.
“You all right?”
“Just a headache.”
He must’ve raced if he’d managed to jump in the shower before catching up with them here. “You didn’t have to come, Marshall.”
“Of course I did. I’m your moral support. Your cheerleader.”
“Where are your pom-poms?”
“It’s more of a mental, internal cheerleading style.”
“I’m glad.”
“That I don’t have pom-poms?” He reached for the restaurant door behind her and held it open.
“No, that you’re here.” She ducked inside without looking back at him, half-embarrassed at just how much she’d meant those words.
But there wasn’t time now to think about it—the embarrassment or the fact that in just forty-eight hours Marshall Hawkins had somehow become a regular in her life, a source of stability. She had to focus on this meeting, which was apparently just about to get going. The music had cut off and the room was quieting.
She caught sight of Jenessa waving from a seat up front. But where would Marshall sit? The place was packed.
“Go on, Mara,” he whispered from behind her. “I’ll find a spot to stand.”
She looked over her shoulder. “But—”
“Good luck.” His voice was low and close to her ear. “And if you want my advice, skip the heels. Give the presentation barefoot. It’ll charm the audience.”
Marshall pressed through the throng of people packed into the restaurant, finding a spot along one wall, wishing he’d thought to grab something to eat back at the Everwood.
Every once in a while he’d get just lucky enough to fend off a migraine with food. Not often, but sometimes.
Maybe he could order a burger. This was a restaurant, after all.
Though it didn’t look much like any restaurant he’d seen before—not considering the exterior. While a man behind a podium up front welcomed folks to the meeting, Marshall looked around. The place was remarkable—an inviting mix of exposed brick and wood, eclectic light fixtures, and long, yawning windows that overlooked the river on one side and the town square on the other. In one corner, a fire crackled behind a marble hearth.
“Used to be a bank.”
Marshall swung a glance to the man standing next to him. Oh, the cop who’d come to talk to Mara the other day. Was that really only yesterday? He fought the urge to rub his temple again. “Must’ve been gutted down to its studs.”
The man nodded, the look in his eyes one Marshall knew well—the practiced study of a policeman. Inquisitive with an edge of distrust. But his low voice was friendly enough. “Local guy named Seth Walker bought the place a few years ago. Shocked us all when we saw it for the first time after it opened.”
Up front, a man with white hair and matching bushy brows spoke in a booming voice. “Before we dive in tonight, I just want to remind everyone about the pet fashion show coming up next week. Every pet is welcome. Even that iguana of yours, Haddie Young.”
Somewhere near the front, a squeal rang out.
“A pet fashion show?” Oops, had he said that out loud?
The cop grunted. “Mayor Milt’s latest addition to the community event calendar. Nothing I love more than watching town newbies discover what a whackadoo place they’ve landed in.”
Whackadoo seemed about right. Earlier today when Marshall had been at Klassen’s Hardware in downtown Maple Valley, no fewer than four people had walked up to him to introduce themselves. Two of them had already known his name and all four knew that he was staying at the Everwood.
He might’ve done some investigating right then to figure out how news spread so lightning fast around these parts if not for the need to drive over to Ames. He’d ended up spending far too many hours roaming the aisles of a big box store . . . and before he’d comprehended what he was doing, he’d not only picked out a new front door but new shutters too. Then he’d gone and loaded his cart with primer and rollers and paint.
It wasn’t until he was halfway back to Maple Valley that he’d felt it—the first hint of a dull throbbing. And the sudden awareness of what he’d done. Blue paint. Deep blue. Like the shutters and door of Laney’s house.
“We’ll have a house just like Green Gables sometime, Daddy. Only I want a blue door.”
“Will we call it Blue Gables? Should I start calling you Laney of Blue Gables?”
His insides churned even now. He’d taken four ibuprofen an hour ago on an empty stomach. Stupid idea.
But at least he was here. He hadn’t given in to the oncoming migraine. Yet.
“. . . happy to introduce Mara, uh . . . Mara?”
Marshall blinked. Mara was first up on the agenda?
The man—the mayor, according to the cop—turned to where Mara had only just lowered onto a chair. “Hmm. I don’t know your last name, young lady.”
Even from here Marshall could see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Reminded him of the way she’d startled when their new guest first showed himself into the den this morning—Lucas Somebody-or-other. A flash of fear, then and now. There and gone in a moment.
He barely heard her soft response to the mayor.
Awkward seconds passed as Mara left her seat, her steps uncertain in those silly heels. Guess she hadn’t taken his advice. But she made it to the podium, opened her folder, shuffled its pages. Looked up. “Uh, hi, everyone.”
“Louder,” came a call from the back of the room.
Come on, Mara. You can do this.
Mara coughed, her knuckles white where she gripped the podium’s edge. “Hi, um, I’m Mara. I’m . . . that is, I . . . ” She swallowed. “I currently manage the Everwood Bed & Breakfast. I’m here to formally apply for funding from the Maple Valley Emergency Business Fund.”
At least she was speaking louder now. But she seemed stiff, unsure. He tugged at his collar. Was anyone else overheating in here? And was he just imagining it or was Mara scanning the crowd as if looking for someone? Looking for him?
“I know many of you probably haven’t been inside the Everwood’s doors in years. And to be honest, I don’t blame you.” The slight lilt in her tone did its job, drawing a smattering of chuckles from the townspeople. “But I don’t think the Everwood’s best days are behind it. I want to restore it and fill it with guests. I have a plan. And . . . and a partner too.”
Finally, Mara’s gaze landed on Marshall. And for one bewildering moment, everything else faded—his headache, the crowd, the simmering frustration that had begun on his drive back to Maple Valley when he’d realized how foolish he’d been to think the migraines and memories wouldn’t find him here.
What had Mara just called him?
Partner.
With patient deliberation, she closed her folder and toed off her heels. And the way she was smiling, looking at him like . . .
Like he wasn’t the fractured man he knew he was. A man who, at the merest hint of a headache, had already begun craving the numbing fog of a sleeping pill. Or, better yet, a few painkillers and a dark room.
He swiped at a bead of sweat on his forehead. Forced an encouraging smile and nodded at her.
She went on, a new confidence backing her voice. “I never meant to end up in Iowa. I’d never even heard of Maple Valley. But the first day I walked into the Everwood, I knew I’d found something special.”
On she continued, barefooted and poised. Telling of the Everwood’s potential, its unique allure and picturesque surroundings. She described the fiery colors of the grove last autumn, the snow-blanketed hills in the winter, the roses she couldn’t wait to see bloom around the arbor this spring.
And he was . . . entranced. Was this truly the same woman who
’d panicked when she’d found him ripping out wallpaper this morning?
“Underneath its outdated trappings, the Everwood has a beating heart of hospitality and history in this community. It’s been a haven to me, and I’d like the chance to make it so for others.”
Soon, the questions began: Did she have any reservations booked for coming months? Could she get the Everwood fixed up in time for the Maple Valley Scenic Railway’s spring opening? How did she intend to compete with the Peony Inn in Dixon or the hotels in Ames or even Des Moines?
Every question she addressed with composure and calm. But each time her glance returned to him, he heard that word again. Partner. With every thud in his head, he thought of that blue paint out in his truck.
And no matter how many times he blinked, swallowed, or rubbed clammy palms over his torso, he couldn’t stop it from happening. The memory, banishing him from the present until he was back there again . . .
In Laney’s silent bedroom with her book in his hands. A paperback, cover creased and pages yellowed. His voice as ragged as his heart. “We started reading this during her first stint in the hospital. I wish we’d had a chance to get to the end before . . . ”
And Penny, from the doorway, “We did get to the end, Marsh. Then we moved on to Anne of Avonlea. You just . . . weren’t there for it. You were too busy calling other doctors and researching fringe medical trials and experiments.”
He’d never forget the look on Penny’s face when he turned—a ceaseless swirl of pity. And worse, accusation.
Partner. Penny was supposed to be his partner. For better or for worse. Instead, she’d left him at his worst. Found someone else who could be her better.
He jolted from his perch by the wall, pushed through the crowd and made his way outside. Cold air tinged with moisture hit his perspiring skin. One deep breath after another, one step after another . . .