Mending Her Heart

The wall around her heart softened and she reached her hand out to the boy. Before she could speak, a familiar but frowning dark figure swooped down on the child and picked him up.

“This isn’t the time or place, little buddy,” Will Tanner said to the child. “It’s very nice of you to offer to share your dump truck, but I don’t think Ms. Stanhope is in the mood right now. Let’s get you a soda.”

“But Grandma Abby said if everyone would put their problems in my truck and send it to the dump, they’d all be happier,” the young voice piped. “Don’t you want that lady to be happy?” His words grew farther away as he was spirited into the kitchen. A hint of laughter spread through the room.

Emma, looking relieved that Catherine had stirred, helped her to her feet. “That’s Will Tanner’s nephew, Charley. He’s only eight and hasn’t quite grasped the fact that Abigail is gone. He was only trying to help.”

And he had, Catherine thought. He’d interjected some lightness into the dark moment. She was grateful for something tangible to do away with the disconnected feelings she was experiencing. The child was right, too. She’d love to send her current toxic troubles to some faraway place. He’d also reminded her that she did have control over how she responded to what was before her. She’d have to thank Charley later—and find out exactly why he was calling her grandmother “Grandma.”

She was not the only one in this room who was grieving. Besides, Abigail would have expected her to recognize that, Catherine reminded herself. Just because she was steeping in a brew of vulnerability and grief, she still had responsibilities. She had people to greet. What she couldn’t do for herself, she would do for her grandmother. That included being a gracious hostess for those who’d come to pay their respects.

She rose from the couch with a weak smile. She was accustomed to hiding her emotions from a jury. She could do it here, too. “No harm done. I haven’t eaten much today. I was just a little faint, that’s all.” She waved a hand toward the milling guests. “Please, keep visiting. Don’t worry about me. I want this to be a celebration of my grandmother’s life.”

Reluctantly at first, and then with more gusto, the guests began to talk among themselves, telling stories about Abigail and even erupting into laughter at the memories. Catherine made her way to the vast dining-room table where a buffet was set up and picked up a sandwich so she’d have something in her stomach. Then she moved from group to group accepting the sympathetic comments and gestures of affection the people of Pleasant had to offer.

“Catherine!” Mrs. Margolis, her third-grade teacher, grabbed her by the hand and embraced her in a hug that nearly suffocated her. The dear woman still wore White Shoulders perfume after all these years. Eddie Henke, the milkman, looked distraught. Abigail had befriended him many times and he wanted to tell Catherine about each of them.

One by one, people approached her to tell Catherine the ways that her grandmother had blessed them—making donations to the park fund, paying doctor bills, buying braces for a needy child. But as she moved toward a group of people from Gram’s church, she was brought up sharply. “Catherine, we have to talk.”

The tone of Aunt Ellen’s voice brought her to a halt. Automatically, Catherine steeled herself. She loved her aunt even though they rarely saw eye to eye. This was the one conversation Catherine had hoped to avoid today, but there was no way to stop the inevitable.

“So,” Ellen said, “I hear you left your job in Minneapolis.” Her face puckered as she said it, as if the words were distasteful. Ellen was pencil thin and dressed to the nines. Her hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob, looked like a piece of architecture. She was wide-eyed and unlined thanks to the nips and tucks she used to fend off old age. Unfortunately Ellen had also removed much of the personality from her own features. She was still beautiful, though, as had been Catherine’s mother, Emily.

Her mother’s sister was a force of nature, Catherine had learned long ago, accustomed to getting her own way and not a terribly gracious loser when foiled. The only person she’d ever seen stand up to Ellen and win was Abigail. It was back then that Catherine first understood the power of a mother lion fighting for her cub.

“That’s right. My plans are fluid for the time being. There’s no hurry for me to go back.” She chose not to mention the job offers she’d had. She didn’t want Ellen’s input right now, and because Catherine was leaning toward teaching, she would have the rest of the summer at Hope House. “I can stay in Pleasant as long as I need to.” Catherine could tell her aunt didn’t think that was fortunate at all.

“What about your home?”

“I put my condo on the market this week. No use doing things halfway.” She’d already emailed her housekeeper to store the few things that were left. Then she’d texted her Realtor to tell her the house would be ready to show next week. When she was ready to move on, there would be nothing tying her down.

“It sounds like you’re burning bridges. You’ve certainly made sure you can’t go back. What are you thinking, Catherine? Yours was a very prestigious job.”

“I suppose, if that sort of thing impresses you.” And that was just the sort of thing that did impress her aunt. Conrad, Connor & Cassidy—the Three C’s as the staff called them—had a highly regarded reputation. “To me it was just my work—family law.”

“But you held other people’s lives in your hands!” Ellen pointed out. “You had the ability to change their futures. That’s very important.”

Too important, sometimes, Catherine thought. She didn’t want to be responsible for the world. She didn’t want to be accountable for anything right now. She’d never been completely comfortable with courtroom drama. Nor did she want to carry the burdens of other people’s heartbreak on her shoulders. One of her last cases had proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. A custody case, it had involved all the drama, intrigue and heartache of an afternoon soap opera—deception, trickery, deceit and revenge. Sadly, a small child had stood at the center of the swirling controversy. That was what had bothered Catherine most.

“It also wears a person out emotionally,” Catherine said to Ellen. “It’s difficult to stay aloof from the issues and the people involved without becoming calloused.”

She didn’t want to be a cynic who kept people at a distance, avoided personal relationships and concentrated only on the work. She hadn’t liked the person she was becoming.

Impulsively Catherine threw her arm around her aunt and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Even that didn’t stop Ellen from expressing her opinion. “It sounds like a disastrous decision to me,” she said. “Throwing away a lucrative career…and for what?”

Some things just never change, Ellen’s quest for income and status being one. She and Uncle Max had been kind to want to adopt her, Catherine thought, but it never would have worked.

“I like to think of it as an opportunity,” Catherine said frankly, “a chance to reinvent myself. There’s a profession out there that doesn’t drain my energy and steal my spirit.” Like teaching, perhaps.

Emma and Will approached at that moment, saving her from any more of her aunt’s comments. Ellen walked away, shaking her head.

“Don’t mind your aunt,” Emma said gently, obviously having overheard the conversation. “Her intentions are good. She has different values, that’s all. You’ve always been a sweet girl with a very tender heart. Your grandmother wondered how you could be in such a ruthless occupation. Apparently you couldn’t after all.” Emma eyed her as if she were x-raying her soul.

“I still remember the day you came from your aunt and uncle’s to live with Abigail. You were a tiny, lost child with a pink backpack, clutching a teddy bear with a red scarf and one missing ear. Your eyes were so big that they took up most of your face.”

Catherine glanced at Will, unsure if she was ready to have him hear this, but most likely he’d heard it all from Gram. “Yes. Initially I’d stayed with my mother’s sister, Ellen, and her husband, Max.”

“But your grandmother never liked it much. She told me that Ellen and Max were too…what was the word?” Emma looked around to make sure they weren’t within hearing distance. “They were too restless to have a child. I never really understood what she meant by that.”

Catherine, however, understood perfectly. “Max and Ellen are entrepreneurs. They love to travel. Max does business all over the world and Ellen accompanies him. It’s an opportunity for Ellen to take photos across the continents. She’s built up a fairly serious reputation as a photographer. By choice, they’ve never had children.”

“It’s probably for the best if they couldn’t stay home,” Emma said, her tone disapproving. “Children need a stable environment.”

“That’s what my grandmother thought, too.” Catherine ran her fingers through her hair. She’d given thanks to God countless times that her grandmother had held fast and insisted on legal custody. Even now, today, she and her aunt were on opposite ends of the spectrum. The conversation they’d just had was proof of that.

Catherine shrugged. “It all worked out, I guess. It’s probably the reason that I specialized in family law.”

“More than worked out. It seems to me it was a big success.” Will glanced at Emma. “This gives me hope.”

Emma nodded in understanding, leaving Catherine in the dark as to what they were talking about.

Before she could ask him what he meant, a bear of a man bore down on them and Catherine threw out her arms. “Jerry!” At that moment he picked her off her feet and gathered her into his arms.

Will and Emma backed away as Catherine greeted her old friend.

Will watched Catherine talk to the newcomer with sudden animation and felt oddly protective. She was spectacularly beautiful, in a tense, agitated kind of way. Will couldn’t fault her for being a bundle of nerves. Losing Abigail had knocked him for a loop and he couldn’t imagine how it might be for Catherine.

She was too thin, and her high cheekbones were more prominent than they might have been had she been carrying another ten or fifteen pounds. For some odd reason, he had an urgent desire to cook for her. Perhaps because he couldn’t think of another thing to do for this woman whose suffering was written across her face.

He rarely felt helpless. Having lived and seen a lot of life had taught him to survive. He was confident about most things he faced, but Catherine was something else. Like his late friend and mentor, Abigail, he was rarely wrong about someone’s character. Beneath her shell of self-sufficiency, Catherine Stanhope was fragile and vulnerable.

Emma, who was acting as hostess, flitted over to him. “She reminds you of Abigail, doesn’t she? Independent, smart, self-reliant….” Emma made a tsk-tsking noise with her tongue. “She was even more so before…” Her voice trailed away.

“Before what?”

“I’m not quite sure. But I do know something has changed her. Abigail told me that a case had affected Catherine deeply and she was having a hard time getting over it. Catherine’s always been very open and forthright, but she has walls up now. I can’t explain it, but it feels as if she holds people at bay sometimes.”

He tensed involuntarily. He preferred people who were honest, not guarded or secretive.

“I know this has been hard on you, Will.” Her grandmotherly concern was evident. “You and Abigail were very close. She loved you like a son. I’m sorry for your loss, as well. Are you okay?”

“I must admit I’m a little poleaxed by what’s happened, but I’ll be fine.” He drew himself to his full six-foot-two height and rolled his shoulders to relax them before giving Emma a lopsided grin. “Which reminds me, I’d better go find Charley before he gets into some mischief.”

“That’s a darling boy you have.”

Will didn’t comment. His mind was too busy digesting the fact that not only was Catherine an attorney, but that she had been at the center of a custody case as a child. Could she help him with the problem that was currently knocking at his door? And of course there was the even bigger question. Would she?

Chapter Three

Catherine gazed up at her old high-school classmate, Jerry Travers. He was a big teddy bear in a bow tie.

“Catherine, I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

“Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate everyone’s kindness. How’s life going for you?”

“Same old, same old. Deeds, contracts, wills, estate planning and, fortunately, very few criminal cases. That’s the blessing of practicing in Pleasant. Most of the work is, well, pretty pleasant.”

She couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“I’m busier than I used to be, of course,” Jerry added.

“You are?” She studied his profile, the prominent nose, strong chin and high forehead. He looked little different than he had in high school.

“Dad is trying to retire. Emphasis on ‘trying.’ He’ll never give up practicing law altogether, but he does need to cut back. He had a minor heart attack last winter and my mother is adamant about getting him to slow down. I’m trying to carry a bigger load and make it look like it’s easy so that he’ll get the idea he can take a few days off here and there.” He took a sandwich off a tray someone brought by. “How about you? How’s the legal profession treating you?”

“I resigned from my job.”

“No kidding?” His dark brows raised with astonishment. “I thought you had some peach of a career on tap…at least that’s what your grandmother always said.”

“I suppose I did, but I needed a break,” Catherine responded vaguely. She wasn’t ready to go into detail about her life choices quite yet.

“How long will you be staying in Pleasant?”

“Probably several weeks. My time is my own right now.”

“Abigail always hoped you’d come back here, you know.”

Surprise rippled through her. “To practice law? What about the esteemed firm of Travers & Travers?”

Jerry chuckled. “Oh, them. More than once Abigail asked Dad if he’d hire you if you came home.”

“She did?” Catherine was taken aback. Her grandmother had had dreams for her she’d never voiced. What else didn’t she know?

“Dad always said yes, of course.”

“To pacify her, no doubt.”

“Not really. I believe he meant it.” Jerry turned an appraising eye on her. “He probably still would. My mother would be eternally grateful. If Dad thought he had a competent attorney in the office other than me, he might ease up finally.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to offer me a job,” Catherine said lightly. It was odd that right after she’d quit her job, other opportunities began to appear.

“Are you looking for one?”

“I’m considering doing some teaching. Of course, that was before Gram died.”

“You’d be good at it. You’d be good at anything you tried, Catherine. I know you’ve got your plate full right now. All I’m saying is that if you want to do some part-time work while you’re deciding your next step, Travers & Travers might be able to accommodate you. I saw you argue a case in the Cities, if you remember. I was very impressed by your skill and confidence. You left everyone else in the dust.”

“That’s very kind of you, Jerry…”

The big man snorted. “It’s not kind at all, Catherine. You’re one of the best. You’d be doing us a kindness by representing our firm.”

Jerry backed away when someone from the dining room called her name. “It’s great to see you again, Catherine. I’m so sorry about the circumstances. No pressure about my offer. I just wanted you to know that if time gets heavy on your hands, you have an option.”

“I appreciate the offer. I just…” She didn’t even get time to finish her sentence before another friend of Abigail took her arm and pulled her away.

When the last guest said goodbye, Catherine dropped into the nearest chair with a groan.

Emma patted her hand. “You’ve had enough for one day, dear. You’re white as a sheet. Why don’t you come back to my house tonight so you can get a good night’s sleep? I know you’d planned to stay at Hope House, but you can check out the place just as well in the morning.”

“I haven’t walked the grounds or been upstairs,” Catherine protested without much enthusiasm. “I really should…”

“Nothing will change overnight. It will all be here for you tomorrow.”

Suddenly, spending the night here felt like a very bad idea. Here at Hope House Catherine knew she would do nothing but think about what she’d lost, when all she really wanted was to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“I’ll take you up on that, Emma.”

She knew she’d be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Catherine awoke slowly, the light of the sun filtering through the thick lace curtains and across her bed. She lay on her back thinking of the remarkable ceiling in her own bedroom at Hope House, which had been decorated with plaster swirls that had been piped on like frosting on a wedding cake. She’d taken the house for granted as a child, but its remarkable features struck her now. Although Emma’s home was lovely, it was a pale comparison to Hope House. Catherine had been living in a fairy-tale house back then and hadn’t even noticed. It would be painful to go back there without Abigail, but it had to be done.

Her limbs felt heavy and it took her some time to roll to her side and put her feet on the pink-and-blue Aubusson rug on the floor beside the bed. Gently she raised and lowered her shoulders and moved her head from side to side. Once her blood was flowing, she stretched broadly and stood up. Her body felt as if it had been beaten as her tense muscles screamed in protest.

After a quick shower, Catherine grabbed clothing from her bag and padded downstairs barefoot to find Emma in the kitchen whipping up a batch of pancakes. Coffee was brewed and fresh-squeezed orange juice was already on the table.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Emma.” Catherine poured herself some coffee. “I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in the big house alone last night.”

“It’s the least I can do, sweet girl. I hope you slept well.”

“Quite soundly. I suppose being exhausted from getting ready to move and then the tension of yesterday wore me out.”

“People always sleep better in Pleasant,” Emma said complacently. “No bright streetlights except a couple on Main Street and a street corner here and there, no traffic noise, no airplanes arriving and taking off, and all the gorgeous, mature trees—it’s like a cocoon, protected from the rest of the world.”

“I appreciate that, I…”

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Will Tanner strode in, dark hair still damp and curling from the shower, a night’s growth of beard shadowing his jawline. “Good morning, ladies. How are things today?” His gaze went directly to Catherine.

She looked as if she’d lost ten pounds overnight, he observed. Her cheeks were hollow and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. She sat at the kitchen table in well-washed jeans that had seen better years and a simple white T-shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her look like a teenager. She’d tucked her feet beneath her and held a large coffee mug in her hands. She lifted it to her face to inhale the aroma and breathed deeply.

Will had never wanted to rescue someone from sadness so badly in his life. Except Charley, of course, but Charley was family. His sister Annie’s blood ran in his veins.

“Morning, Will. I thought you’d be by.” Emma held up a carafe. “Coffee?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Maybe a jolt of caffeine would take the edge off his fuzziness. He’d dreamed all night of Abigail and the plans they’d had together.

In the dream he and Abigail sat at her kitchen table as they always did, discussing the house and the forever-growing list of restoration projects he was to tackle.

“Will,” she would say, “promise me that whatever happens, you’ll finish this house.” Her expression was intent. “Don’t get itchy feet. Please say that you’ll stay here until it’s done.”

“Abigail, there’s no reason for me to leave you. The house will be done. I promise. I’m not a quitter.”

“Refurbishing this house is my gift to the Stanhope family. I married my husband, Charles, as a very young woman and it changed everything about my life.” Abigail’s eyes would flash with resolve and she’d squeeze his hand so tightly that it almost hurt.

Then she’d stare straight into his eyes and say, “The Stanhopes were generous to a fault. They helped to mold me into who I am today. I will be forever grateful for the way they took me in as a true daughter. And they loved Hope House, as I grew to.”

He was ready to reassure her again that he wasn’t planning to go anywhere when he woke and realized that Abigail was gone. By dawn he knew with complete certainty what he had to do. She’d given him not only a job but a place to live—a cozy apartment in the guesthouse, a stable home for his nephew, Charley, and as a result, a renewed purpose for his life. If ever he was to claim Charley as his own son, a real home was imperative. The town was safe, idyllic and friendly, perfect for a growing child, and their place was small but comfortable—no matter what his sister-in-law thought. He was tired of continually locking horns with Sheila on the matter. He had to restore the house as Abigail had asked. It was imperative that he make a home for his little boy.

Then an unsettling thought occurred to him. What had Abigail told her granddaughter of her plans? Catherine owned the house now. She could sell it or turn it into a gift shop or any fool thing she wanted.

Still, even in death, Abigail was a force to be reckoned with. He would do what he’d promised her.

He looked up to see Emma and Catherine staring at him expectantly. How long had his mind drifted?

“Sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” He looked at Catherine. “Did you?”

“I think it felt less like sleep and more like a coma,” she admitted. “I was already on my way to Pleasant for some badly needed R&R…” As she said it, she looked troubled.

There was more to this woman than met the eye, Will sensed. He hoped he’d get to know her well enough to learn what made her tick.

Catherine felt uncomfortable beneath Will’s intent gaze. “Tell me more about what you did for Gram,” she suggested.

“I’m doing a lot of carpentry work right now, as you probably already know. It was your grandmother’s dream that Hope House be preserved for posterity. I’ve been helping her restore the place.”

No, she didn’t know. Catherine couldn’t recall her grandmother saying that to her. Of course, Gram had traveled to Minneapolis for their visits and Hope House was rarely a topic of conversation.

Now she knew why he seemed so at ease in this house. There was a time when she felt she was Abigail’s primary confidant. Will had been here for Gram and she hadn’t. She’d trade it all for an hour with her now.

“I live in the guesthouse,” he added as if it were an afterthought.

Catherine blinked. Gram hadn’t mentioned that either.

“I’m a relatively recent addition to the property.” Tanner looked amused by her surprise. “Six months, remember? Living in the guesthouse is part of my payment for my work. Abigail and I struck a deal.”

What exactly did that mean?

He thrust his hands into his pockets. “It was my understanding that she was going to surprise you when you arrived. From what I gathered, Abigail was sure you’d be pleased because you’d grown up here and your family home had so much history.”

He gave her a shrewd stare. “She thought you felt the same way about Hope House that she did.”

Will might as well have pounded a stake into her heart. Of course she loved Hope House! But her life was very different from Gram’s. What’s more, she’d been away from home except for summer breaks and visits since she was eighteen years old. She loved Pleasant and Hope House, but it was part of her past, not her future. Maybe it was a good thing that Gram hadn’t understood that. It might have hurt her to know they weren’t on the same page.