Additional Works
by Cindy Roland Anderson
About the Author
Cindy Roland Anderson is the bestselling author of clean, contemporary romance filled with humor, romantic tension and some pretty great kissing scenes. Cindy has a degree in nursing, and worked in the NICU until she recently retired to write full time. She loves to bake, not cook (there is a difference!) and enjoys spending time with her family. Cindy is lucky to be married to her best friend John. They live in Northern Utah and are parents to five incredible children. Over the past few years their family has expanded by adding a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law and four adorable grandchildren. Cindy loves to read, almost as much as she loves writing. And she loves chocolate—probably a little too much.
To contact Cindy or to see other projects she is working on go to www.cindyrolandanderson.com or check out her author Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/cindyrolandandersonauthor
Love Coming Late
Jeanette Lewis
For Dan
Chapter 1
Cynthia Eddington pulled a long sheet of bubble wrap from the box she was unpacking and tossed it into the corner.
“Where do you want the couch, Aunt Cynthia?” her nephew, Casey, asked as he backed through the doorway, arms weighed down by one end of the heavy, charcoal-gray couch.
Cynthia looked helplessly around the room, which was already cluttered with boxes, furniture, laundry baskets full of cleaning supplies, and crumpled piles of packing materials. How had three people managed to accumulate so much stuff? She’d thought the smallest moving truck would have been more than enough, but when it came time to actually load up yesterday, she’d had to swap it for the second-largest truck. Even then, everything wouldn’t have fit without Casey’s superior Tetris-like packing skills.
“Mom ... hurry!” Cynthia’s son, Jackson, urged from his place holding up the other end of the couch.
“How about under the window for now?” Cynthia pointed. “We can rearrange later.”
They eased the couch into the room and plunked it in front of the window, then went back outside for another load.
Cynthia returned her attention to the box she was unpacking. Her hands shook slightly as she eased the simple pewter urn from its nest of bubble wrap. The burnished metal gleamed in the late afternoon light slanting in through the front windows. Cynthia placed the urn carefully on the fireplace mantel and stepped back.
“That looks good,” said her sister, Lisa, emerging from the kitchen.
Cynthia nodded; her throat felt tight. She hadn’t thought about Lee much lately, especially with the busyness of moving. The move back to Snow Valley, Montana, represented the last step in his long and painful journey home.
Well, his second-to-last step. There was still the memorial service to come, but Cynthia didn’t want to think about that right now. The process of moving had been arduous enough.
The house she’d rented was only a few blocks from Snow Valley’s Main Street and within easy walking distance to stores, schools, and the hospital where she would be working—important, because at the moment they only had one car. The 1950s-style red brick rambler had two bedrooms upstairs for Cynthia and Anoria and one downstairs for Jackson. Only one bathroom, but they’d make do.
The house was smaller than their old house in Kennewick, Washington, but it had more surrounding land with a large yard, a garden area, and even some fruit trees. A pair of towering pines flanked the sidewalk leading to the cement porch with the white-painted front door. Cynthia had left their old, dying lawnmower in a dumpster in Kennewick and dreaded having to buy a new one. Snow Valley in early May was still cool enough to discourage much lawn growth, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d need yard tools.
Of course, even a lot this size paled in comparison to the farm they’d left behind nearly nine years ago—the farm from Lee’s boyhood, nestled in the rolling hills of one of Snow Valley’s many canyons. But back then, she hadn’t been a single parent of two teenagers and trying to work full-time. Back then, she’d had Lee.
“That’s everything,” Casey announced as he and Jackson came into the house once again. They put the long console table they were carrying against the wall by the front door and turned to Cynthia. “Got the keys? We can take the truck back,” Casey offered.
“You don’t need to do that,” Cynthia replied. “Besides, I don’t want Jackson driving so far.” There was a drop-off point for the truck in Billings, an hour from Snow Valley. At twenty-two, Casey could handle the truck, but Cynthia didn’t want seventeen-year-old Jackson driving her car over the winding canyon roads.
“Anoria just got here,” Casey said. “She can go with us.”
As if on cue, Cynthia’s twenty-one-year-old daughter, Anoria, stepped through the open door. She was petite and pretty, with Lee’s light brown hair and big hazel eyes. Jackson, on the other hand, favored Cynthia with his honey blond hair, blue eyes, and the smattering of freckles across his nose.
Anoria glanced over the room and frowned. “I thought you’d have more unpacked by now.”
“We’ve only been here since noon,” Cynthia pointed out. Anoria was supposed to have followed the truck in Cynthia’s car, but had stayed for a goodbye breakfast with friends and had been a few hours behind them.
Casey checked his phone. “If we’re going, we should probably leave now. The rental place will be closing soon,” he warned.
“Okay, thanks.” Cynthia dug the truck keys from her pocket and tossed them across the room to Casey’s outstretched hand.
“Be careful,” Lisa called as the three left.
“I don’t know what I’d have done without Casey,” Cynthia said gratefully to her sister. Her nephew had flown to Kennewick to help pack boxes and load the truck, and then had driven much of the nine-hour trip to Snow Valley.
“He’s a good kid,” Lisa said fondly. She brushed her hands off on her black sweatpants and tugged a loose bobby pin from her hair, which was several shades darker than Cynthia’s. “He and Dannon are pretty excited to have Anoria and Jackson home.” She reset the bobby pin and turned her attention back to the kitchen. “Come show me where you want these mixing bowls.”
The cousins had always been close. Cynthia remembered many happy times at the farm with Casey and his sister, Dannon, playing alongside Anoria and Jackson. There had been Sunday dinners, hikes, sleep-outs under the stars, and they’d even spent one summer making a fort in the hayloft of the old barn.
Thinking of the missed years made Cynthia’s heart ache. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on “if only” thoughts, but now that she was back in Snow Valley, keeping her promise would be hard—and it would probably be harder once she saw the farm again.
“When do you start work?” Lisa asked, once they’d found a spot for the bowls.
“Monday.”
Lisa frowned. “That’s not much time. Couldn’t you wait a few more days—give yourself time to get settled in?” She began pulling kitchen towels from a box and layering them in a drawer.
Cynthia dragged a box of dishes toward her across the white tiled countertop. “I can’t. I promised I’d be there Monday. Besides, no work means no pay, and I can’t go any longer without some income.”
“Look, sis, if you need some money, I’d be happy to—”
“No, it’s fine,” Cynthia cut her off. “I still have Lee’s life insurance, but I want to save as much as I can for the kids. Besides, it will be good to get busy working again.”
Lisa gave her an understanding smile and dug into another box. They worked for over an hour, struggling to fit Cynthia’s things into the tiny kitchen. The kitchen in Kennewick hadn’t been much bigger, but this one was older, with less storage space.
“Where do you want this?” Lisa asked, holding up a large white serving bowl painted with cherries.
“Above the microwave?” Cynthia suggested.
Lisa tried to fit the bowl in the cupboard, but it was to
o wide and the door wouldn’t close.
“Just throw it away,” Cynthia said with a sigh. She was one hundred percent done with moving and everything that came with it.
“Oh, we’ve reached this stage already?” Lisa smiled. “Don’t worry, I think it will fit on top of the fridge.” She reached up to relocate the bowl. “When are you going to the farm?”
Cynthia glanced toward the living room, but couldn’t see the fireplace or the urn through the narrow doorway. “Sunday is three years since Lee’s death,” she said. “I’m hoping ... but I don’t know if it will work out.”
“It’s not the same place it was when you left,” Lisa said gently.
Cynthia nodded. She knew the farm had changed hands several times after the bank foreclosed. Thanks to Lisa, she also knew that the current owner, Wade Hadley, had made some major changes.
Lee had requested his remains be cremated and his ashes scattered on the farm in Snow Valley where he’d grown up and where he and Cynthia had tried to raise their children. They’d worked so hard, but bad decisions combined with series of bad growing seasons had forced a bank foreclosure. The Eddingtons fled to Kennewick, where Lee found work in a cabinet shop. Losing the farm broke his heart and sent him into a deep depression, so when the illness came, he didn’t have much strength to fight it.
“You don’t have to go on Sunday,” Lisa said sympathetically. “No one would blame you if you took some time to get settled first. Lee certainly won’t mind.”
Cynthia shook her head. “I’ve been putting it off for too long anyway. It’s time for closure.”
“Do you want some sort of ceremony?” Lisa asked. “I could call the pastor.”
Cynthia had not forgotten Pastor John’s kindness during those years of struggle. Lee preferred to stay home on Sundays, but Pastor John would always check in with Cynthia when she took the kids to church. He stopped by the farm during the week as well—never coming empty-handed, but always with groceries, or a casserole, or fresh-baked bread from someone’s oven, or a box of produce from an anonymous garden. Cynthia never knew who the givers were, never asked. That was Snow Valley; the people took care of one another.
“It’s kind of short notice,” Cynthia said. “But if Pastor John can come, I’d really like that.”
Cynthia felt Lisa’s arm go around her shoulders and looked up at her sister in surprise. She didn’t remember sitting down on the barstool.
There was a lot about the past few years she didn’t remember, though she would never forget the chill that had run through her when the doctor had given them the dreadful diagnosis—Lou Gehrig’s disease—or the look on Anoria’s and Jackson’s faces when they’d learned the terrible news, that their father would not live much longer.
Cynthia was in shock for much of the first year after Lee’s death. Then came nursing school and the struggle to start a career in middle age. Besides a quick trip last month for the job interview and to find a place to rent, she hadn’t been back to Snow Valley since they’d left nine years ago.
But, at last, they’d come home, where they’d scatter his ashes at the farm and it would finally, finally be behind her.
“Did you hear me, Cyn?” Lisa asked, and Cynthia pulled her thoughts back to the present.
“What? No, sorry,” she admitted sheepishly.
“I wondered if you were hungry,” Lisa said.
“No,” Cynthia shook her head. “Not really.”
“You’re too skinny.” Lisa tsked softly and cast a critical eye on her sister. “I’ll bet you are hungry; you just forget.” She gave Cynthia a one-armed hug and scooped her purse off the counter. “I’ve got to run and fix dinner. I’ll send some over with Casey when he gets back. It’s shepherd’s pie and those rolls you like, so you’d better find an appetite between now and six o’clock. And leave the door unlocked when you go to work on Monday, because I’m coming back to clean your oven. Whoever lived here before certainly didn’t do a good job with that.” She smiled and waved goodbye as she left.
***
The table was still buried in boxes, so Cynthia, Anoria, and Jackson ate Lisa’s delicious dinner sitting on the couch. Later, after the kids had retreated to their rooms, Cynthia took a shot at unpacking her bedroom. Lisa, bless her, had made up the bed with clean sheets and Cynthia’s comforter. It looked so inviting, Cynthia had to force herself to reach for another box instead of simply flopping down and hoping for a dreamless sleep.
She paused to study the framed photograph she’d just unpacked—her family in happier times, before worry and illness had taken their toll. The kids were young, their faces softer, more rounded. Her hair had been shorter, barely brushing her shoulders instead of hanging halfway down her back like it did now. She should probably get it cut again, but it was just one more thing—more time and another added expense. To keep it out of her way, she usually kept it secured with a clip at the back of her head.
Her finger traced Lee’s face in the picture. Poor Lee. He’d given everything to the farm, leaving none for her. They’d married young, and even before his illness, she’d known something was missing. Whenever she’d take a break from her frenzied schedule of mothering, working, and trying to help with the farm, an ache would rear up in her heart, ugly and fierce. She loved being a mother, but always there was the feeling of something missing—a hole nothing seemed to fill.
The hole was there now.
Cynthia sighed and put the picture on her nightstand next to the lamp. It was after sunset and the overhead light was dim. She flipped the switch on the lamp, then realized it held no bulb. She had no idea what box the extras were in, and she was too tired to care.
Tomorrow would be another full day of unpacking, then a visit to the farm to see if the Hadleys would let her have the service there for Lee. Hopefully Sunday would provide closure and a day of rest she so desperately needed before she had to report to Snow Valley’s hospital to start her job as a full-time nurse.
Chapter 2
Colby Schroder pulled up beside the broken fence and killed the engine on the four-wheeler, which died with a sputter.
“My guess is Buster; what do you think?” he said to Shiloh. But the golden retriever merely sniffed his way along the fence and didn’t respond.
With a sigh, Colby climbed off the four-wheeler and marched toward the fence, his rubber Muck boots squishing in the mud.
He examined the two broken rails. Both were shattered in the same place, as if by one blow, the splintered ends pushed outward toward the road. Colby could imagine Buster lowering his head and running at the fence full speed to meet the poles with a tremendous crash. The stupid goat would give himself a concussion one of these days, if he hadn’t already.
The rails were destroyed, but the wire mesh he’d stapled to the outside of the fence all the way around the pasture had held. Despite the damage, Buster had been unable to break out. He eyed Colby now from a safe distance—he knew he was in trouble.
Colby chuckled and dug into the pocket of his jacket for a handful of raw almonds. He held them over the fence, and after a pause, Buster came running to eagerly nip them from the palm of his hand.
“You’re lucky that fence is strong,” Colby told him. “If you’d broken into the pasture, you’d have been reduced to a smear in the mud.” The last thing he needed was Buster trying to play king of the hill with a bunch of new mother goats. The entire herd of nannies would have attacked him.
Buster ignored him, concentrating on the almonds. When he finished eating, he nudged Colby’s hand and set off across his field at a trot, his shaggy black fur rippling as he ran.
“Yeah, no worries, I’ve got this!” Colby called after him as he turned his attention to the fence.
He’d have to replace the damaged rails, but for the time being, he settled on a patch. He grabbed the bucket of supplies he always carried on the back of the four-wheeler and set to work, drilling holes several inches back from the shattered ends, where the wood was still strong
, then threading heavy wire through the holes. He lined up the broken pieces and used pliers to twist the wires together, securing the rails until he had the time to bring replacements. When he finished, the fence looked almost as good as new. Colby tested the broken part, pushing on it and giving a grunt of satisfaction when it held. Let the old goat try it again; Colby had won this round.
Shiloh had flopped down in a patch of long grass to watch him work, panting in the morning sunshine. “Thanks for the help.” Colby grinned, eyeing the dog affectionately. He’d owned and trained a lot of dogs in his lifetime, but Shiloh was one of his favorites. Something about him made Colby feel ... settled. Or maybe it was because he was finally getting used to living on his own again.
As he loaded the supplies back into the bucket, an unfamiliar white sedan turned up the road and came toward him. Colby squinted, but even with the shade of his cowboy hat, the sun was too bright to make out the car’s occupants. He waited as the car moved up the asphalt and finally rolled to a stop at his side.
The driver’s window slid down and a young woman smiled at him from behind the wheel. She was young, with wavy brown hair falling past her shoulders.
Colby took off his hat. “Howdy. Can I help you with something?”
The young woman’s gaze traveled over him, and her eyes lit up. “We’re looking for the Eddingt—I mean, Hadley farm,” she said.
“You found it,” Colby said. “But it’s the Diamond A now.” He pointed a bit farther up the road, where a massive entrance of rock and lodge pole rails arched over the road. The Diamond A brand had been cut in a large metal rectangle hanging in the center of the arch.
The passenger door opened and another woman stepped out and came around the car toward him. She was slim, and her light blue jeans and cranberry sweater hugged her curves in all the right places. She wore oversize sunglasses, and when she took them off, he saw her eyes were a deep sapphire blue, rimmed with dark lashes. Her nose was touched with a dusting of freckles. She brushed her light blond hair away from her face with one quick movement and gave him a smile. “Are you Wade Hadley?”
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