Making His Way Home

* * *

“I’m sorry, but Sully won’t be back in the office until Monday.”

Cole stared at the receptionist—and apparently the other half of Sullivan and Sullivan—in disbelief. Candy Sullivan, a bleach blonde in her mid-fifties, had pointed to a chair by the window when he’d walked into the law office. Then she’d spent the next fifteen minutes chatting on the phone while she painted each fingernail a shade of red that matched the fire hydrant on the curb outside.

Fortunately, her conversation had come to an end about sixty seconds before Cole’s patience.

“I picked up the key from Mr. Sullivan when I got into town yesterday. He didn’t say anything about going away for the weekend.”

“Yesterday Sully didn’t know that Mayor Dodd was going to ask him to judge the square dance competition.” Candy pursed her lips and blew a stream of air on her pinky finger. “He needs a few hours to get ready, so he skipped out early. Matilda Fletcher, she’s the head of the historical society, found him the cutest pair of red suspenders—”

“You mean he’s still in town?”

Penciled-in eyebrows hitched together like boxcars over the narrow track of Candy’s nose. “Where else would he be, honey? A town only turns one hundred and twenty-five years old...” A brief pause. “Once.”

Cole pulled in a breath and held it, trying to cap off his rising frustration. He’d promised Iola he would be back by the end of the day.

His secretary’s husband, Virgil, had taken Cole’s place in the cockpit for the flying lessons Cole had scheduled, but he preferred to be on the ground now, taking care of the shop. A job that had belonged to Cole before he’d bought out the business from Cap Hudson, the flight school’s previous owner.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“He’s probably at the park right about now. I have to get over there myself.” Candy dropped the tiny brush back into the bottle and aimed a pointed look at the clock.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the name of a local Realtor, would you?”

“There’s only one. Sissy Perkins.”

“Where is her office located?”

“A block off Main. Right behind the bank.”

“Thanks—”

“But Sissy isn’t working today, either.”

“The square dance competition?”

Candy Sullivan’s shield against sarcasm had to be as thick as her bronze foundation because she smiled at him. “The box social. It starts at eleven, by the pavilion.”

Cole glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might have a few minutes to talk to both his grandfather’s attorney and the Realtor.

Or see Grace again.

He shook away the thought and another one immediately took its place....

Grace sitting on the rock, her bare toes drawing lazy circles in the water while she listened to him recite a passage from his English text. Splashing him if he dared to grumble.

But the Grace he’d encountered the evening before wasn’t the one he remembered. That Grace wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get away from him.

Cole felt a stab of regret for the way things had turned out.

He’d thought about Grace over the years. Pictured her standing in a sunlit classroom against a chalkboard backdrop, the classics fanned out on her desk like a buffet. Each book a sample of a new literary adventure she would encourage reluctant students to try.

He’d never imagined she would become a social worker and continue living in her childhood home. She was the one who’d challenged him to pursue his dreams.

Plans change, she’d said.

But what had changed? Her circumstances? Her goals? She’d told him what she was doing, but not why.

Because it’s none of your business, Cole reminded himself.

And right now, his business was somewhere in the park.

He waited at the corner for a brightly painted ice-cream truck to lumber past before crossing Main Street.

From the looks of it, half the town had already gathered in front of the pavilion. Cole stalked toward the makeshift stage set up in the shade of a towering maple, dodging kids and dogs and several people who looked like extras on the set of Little House on the Prairie.

He paused to look around, trying to find Marty Sullivan’s face in the crowd.

“I think the auction is about to start,” he heard someone say. “Let’s get closer to the stage. I can’t see what I’m bidding on from way back here.”

“Just don’t bid on the one with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. That one’s mine.”

“It’s Grace Eversea’s basket, ain’t it?”

Cole’s head jerked around at the name. He eased around the trunk of the nearest tree so he could eavesdrop—see—better.

Two guys close to his age stood several yards away. One of them was as tall and skinny as a fly rod, with shaggy blond hair and a full beard. The other a businessman of some kind, pale and clean-cut with a smile as tight as the garish purple tie knotted around his neck.

“What if it is?” Purple Tie sounded a wee bit defensive.

“Good luck with that,” Shaggy scoffed.

“You’re just bitter because Grace wouldn’t go to the fireworks with you last Fourth of July.”

“How many times have you struck out?” Shaggy shot back.

“Not as many as you.”

Cole almost smiled. He wasn’t sure why the guy was bragging about it.

“And you think winning her basket is going to make Grace forget the reason she turns down all the guys who ask her out?”

“I know it will. Women love this kind of attention. When I outbid everyone else, she’ll be flattered—”

“And grateful.”

His friend flashed a sly grin. “You got it.”

Cole couldn’t believe it. If he had his way, neither one of them would spend five minutes in Grace’s company. They didn’t deserve her.

“I’ve got twenty dollars.” Purple Tie tapped his back pocket. “Do you think it’ll go for more than that?”

“If it does, I’ve got five I can lend you.”

“Great. Then I’m in.”

Cole dug his wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through the contents as the bidding started.

A slow smile spread across his face.

So was he.

Chapter Three

Grace nibbled on the tip of her fingernail as the mayor’s wife delivered a picnic basket to another smiling couple.

The box social was the 1887 equivalent of a blind date, something she’d managed to avoid in spite of the efforts of well-meaning friends and coworkers. So why had she actually volunteered to participate?

Probably because it had sounded like a fun way to kick off the celebration. But that was before her basket was the one the men would be bidding on.

“We’re down to the last two, gentlemen.” Mayor Dodd’s gaze swept over the crowd as he held up a wicker hamper lined with pink-and-white checked gingham. “And I have to say, something in here smells mighty delicious.”

“Is that one yours?” her friend Abby O’Halloran whispered.

Grace could only nod as the butterflies in her stomach took flight.

“Who will give me five dollars for this basket?” Mayor Dodd bellowed, his voice carrying through the park without the aid of a microphone. “I see your hand back there, mister.”

Grace didn’t dare turn around and see who’d placed the first bid. Abby and Kate, however, had no qualms.

“I can’t see who’s bidding,” Kate complained, stretching up on her tiptoes. “I need a stepladder.”

“Or Alex,” Abby teased, referring to her older brother, who happened to be Kate’s fiancé.

Grace groaned. “Just tell me when it’s over.”

“Five dollars...ten. Do I hear fifteen? Fifteen dollars for this lovely basket and the company of the lovely lady who prepared it. Twenty! Do I hear twenty-five—”

“Thirty dollars.”

“Now you’re talking.” The mayor tucked a thumb inside his brocade vest and strutted across the stage as the crowd cheered, caught up in the friendly competition. “My wife tells me there’s one slice of peach pie in here, which means you’ll have to get close enough to share.”

Abby nudged her. “That was smart.”

“Smart had nothing to do with it,” Grace muttered. “I got hungry last night.”

After returning home from that unexpected encounter with Cole, it had been pie or a pint of rocky road. She’d opted for the treat with a calorie count that didn’t cross over into the triple digits.

“Thirty dollars—who will give me thirty-five?” Mayor Dodd’s eyes narrowed. “The money is for a good cause, gentlemen! New playground equipment for the park—”

“Fifty dollars.”

A second of absolute silence followed the bid. Even Kate was rendered momentarily speechless.

“Fifty dollars. Going once—” Mayor Dodd slammed the gavel down as the crowd began to cheer. “Sold! For fifty dollars.”

“That’s more than Quinn paid for mine.” Abby exchanged a grin with Kate.

“Come up here and get your basket.” Mayor Dodd held it up like a trophy. “And your girl.”

Grace wished the earth would open up and swallow her as she slowly made her way toward the stage.

She’d heard a rumor that Tom Braddock had been bragging to everyone in their department that he was going to win her basket. Tom had asked her out several times over the past few years but Grace had politely declined, using the excuse that it wasn’t wise to date a coworker.

It was safer than admitting the real reason.

But Tom glared at her when she walked past, as if it was her fault that someone had outbid him.

“Don’t be shy now, Grace,” the mayor boomed, twirling the end of his mustache. “It’s all in good fun, you know.”

Grace tacked on a smile and looked around, ready to thank whoever had emptied his wallet for the new playground equipment.

And her gaze locked with Cole’s. Everything else disappeared as they stared at each other.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Grace’s lips shaped the word, but she wasn’t sure if she said it out loud.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Cole flashed a crooked smile. The one that had had Grace’s heart spinning pirouettes when she’d been a naive teenager.

“Mind?” she repeated. Because that smile stripped her of the ability to form a complete sentence, let alone a complete thought.

Instead of answering, Cole held something up.

A basket with a bright pink bow.

“It looks like we’ll be having lunch together,” he said.

Lunch.

If only it were that simple, Grace thought with rising panic. But she wasn’t about to tell Cole that by bidding on her basket, he hadn’t simply agreed to spend an hour in her company. He was now her date for the square dance that evening and—Grace swallowed hard as another, more terrifying thought occurred to her—another event scheduled for the next day. One that would ruin any attempts Grace might have made to avoid Cole’s company.

* * *

“What did you do?”

Watching Grace march toward him, Cole decided it had to be a trick question. Because the answer seemed pretty obvious to him.

“I bid on your basket.” And he’d won.

But Grace squeezed her eyes shut, giving Cole the distinct impression that when she opened them again, she was hoping he wouldn’t be there.

Maybe she’d rather have lunch with the guy in the purple tie. Because it sure didn’t look like she was thrilled with the prospect of spending time with him.

Regret sliced through Cole. There’d been a time when Grace had welcomed his company. When she’d welcomed his arms around her...

And there was another reason he shouldn’t have taken part in the auction. Life had taken them down different roads. They’d been kids that summer. Cole was a different person now and so was Grace.

The hunted look she cast over her shoulder proved it.

“Come with me,” she muttered. “We have to get out of here before...”

They were surrounded. By a group of women wearing bonnets.

Grace closed her eyes.

Maybe she was hoping they would disappear, too.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” A stunning blonde with silver-green eyes smiled up at him. “I’m Abby O’Halloran.”

“Cole Merrick.” Given the way the women were dressed, in full skirts that skimmed the tops of their black, button-down shoes, Cole resisted the temptation to bow.

Grace sighed. “Cole, these are my...friends. Abby O’Halloran, Emma Sutton, Zoey Wilde and Jenna McGuire.”

All four of the women were close to Grace’s age but Cole didn’t recognize their faces. He hadn’t socialized much when he’d lived in Mirror Lake. Between summer school and keeping his three younger siblings entertained, there hadn’t been time to hang out with the other teenagers.

Only Grace.

“Hello.” Cole added a smile because they looked a lot more friendly than his former neighbor at the moment.

Four pairs of eyes blinked. In unison.

“Here.” Zoey Wilde, a slim brunette with pearl-gray eyes, flipped open a cardboard fan and handed it to Grace. “I have a feeling you’re going to need this more than I am.”

Cole had no idea what she meant, but Grace’s cheeks turned the same shade of pink as the ribbon tied around the handle of the basket.

“Yes. Well. Cole and I should be going now. Mayonnaise in the chicken salad.” Grace grabbed his elbow and propelled him forward. Toward the parking lot.

They managed to make it ten steps before their escape route was blocked by a petite redhead.

“Hi, Grace. Cole.” Kate Nichols’s shamrock-green eyes sparkled up at him. “I didn’t think you were going to stick around for the celebration.”

Neither had Cole.

“Marty Sullivan isn’t scheduling appointments until Monday. His wife mentioned he was here, so I was hoping to track him down.” Hoping to convince the lawyer to make an exception when he’d spotted Grace standing near the stage. Beautiful. Confident. Nervous.

Kate tipped her head and a flame-colored curl sprang free from the bonnet. “You’ll probably see Sully at the square dance tonight.”

“I won’t be in town that long.”

“But you have to—” Kate clamped her lips together, sealing off the rest of the words.

Probably because, out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw Grace vigorously shaking her head and making a slashing motion across her throat.

He frowned. “Have to what?”

Kate looked at the sky, as if she expected to find the answer written in the clouds. “Um, tour the historical museum? There’s a great...thimble collection. Not to be missed.”

“Then we should probably make our way over there, sweetheart,” a voice interjected smoothly. “Before the line gets too long.”

“Alex.” Kate turned to the man who’d sauntered up behind them and smiled, tucking her arm through his. “This is Cole Merrick. He used to live in Mirror Lake. Cole, my fiancé, Alex Porter.”

Cole recognized the wealthy hotelier’s name instantly. He just couldn’t believe that Kate Nichols, who looked as sweet and wholesome as one of the apple pies in the dessert case at the Grapevine café, had ended up engaged to someone like Porter. Cole didn’t know the man personally, but he knew the type. He flew them from city to city, waiting on the runway while they closed million-dollar deals over lunch. The bread and butter of Cole’s charter service.

“Merrick.” Alex extended his hand, his grip testing Cole’s character. The jade-green eyes, his intentions.

Grace cleared her throat.

“Okay!” Kate said brightly. “Alex and I should probably leave you two alone so you can get acquainted. He has to judge the pie eating contest at two o’clock.”

Cole waited for everyone to laugh at the joke. No one did.

Alex tucked Kate against his side. And then flicked a look at Cole. “Take care.”

Of Grace.

Cole didn’t miss the subtle warning.

At least now he understood why Grace had been in such a hurry to leave. Under different circumstances, Cole might have been offended by Porter’s protective behavior. But for some reason, it was good to know Grace had people looking out for her.

“Is that everyone?” he teased as the couple strolled away.

“Not even close,” Grace murmured. She hiked up the hem of her gown and started off again, dodging the other picnickers as if she was the Packers star quarterback going for a touchdown.

Cole followed at a more leisurely pace, carefully fixing his gaze on the yellow ribbons dangling from Grace’s bonnet and not on the intriguing sway of her...bustle.

“How about right there?” Cole pointed to a spindly oak tree, its sparse branches creating a patch of shade not much larger than the picnic basket he was carrying.

Grace hesitated.

“Or we could always eat lunch between those two pickup trucks over there.”

She nibbled on her lower lip, clearly tempted by the suggestion.

“I was kidding, Grace.”

“Oh.” The flash of disappointment on her face was almost comical. “I suppose the tree will be fine.”

“Everything looks great.” Cole lowered himself to the ground and relocated a June bug lumbering through the grass while Grace snapped open a square of gingham flannel that matched the ribbon on her basket.

“Thank you.” She began to unpack the dishes and arrange them on the blanket, careful not to brush up against him.

“Beautiful day.” Cole waded into the silence.

“It’s supposed to be sunny and warm today and tomorrow.”

“Looks like there’s a pretty good turnout.”

Grace nodded. “Yes.”

And they were back to making small talk. But because Cole had started it with the weather comment, he couldn’t really complain, now could he?

“Everyone’s been talking about the celebration for months. A lot of people can trace their ancestors all the way back to the year the town was settled.” Grace was using her tour guide voice now. “The planning committee spent most of the winter researching local history and we had a chance to read through some of the old letters and diaries the family members kept.”

Cole glanced at the white petticoat peeping out from below the ruffled hem of her dress. “I see they kept their ancestors’ clothes, too.”

Except for the cowboy boots. Grace had been wearing them the night before, another small but charming glimpse of the girl he’d fallen for that summer. Before he’d been forced to put his own dreams and plan aside.

“The historical society let us borrow them for the weekend.” Grace tugged off her bonnet and drops of sunlight splashed between the leaves, highlighting threads of mahogany in her hair. “It was Kate’s idea. A creative way to help people remember the past.”

Unfortunately, Cole wasn’t having a difficult time doing that. Not with Grace sitting less than two feet away from him, carefully removing the crust from her sandwich....

“What are you looking at?”

Cole’s lips quirked. “You still don’t eat your crusts.”

“No.” Grace glanced down at her plate. “Because they still taste like crusts.”

The simple logic—and the way Grace’s nose wrinkled—made Cole smile. “I just figured that removing the crusts from a piece of bread was something a person...outgrew.”

“Do you eat mushrooms?”

Cole couldn’t prevent a shudder. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they taste like mushrooms?”

“So in other words, a strong aversion to a particular food isn’t something a person necessarily outgrows.”

“It’s not a strong—” Cole stopped. “I guess not.”

Grace smiled.

Okay. They were having a conversation about crusts and mushrooms, but at least it was a conversation. And he’d coaxed a smile from her.

Cole considered that progress.

Until Grace chucked her half-eaten sandwich back in the basket.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time, but the first tour starts in an hour and I have to get B.C. hitched up to the wagon.” She rose to her feet. “Don’t rush, though. Just leave the basket on the stage and I’ll pick it up when you’re...”

Gone? Cole was tempted to fill in the blank while Grace searched for a polite word.

“...finished.”

He couldn’t help but wonder if she would have cut the time short if Shaggy or the guy in the purple tie had placed the highest bid.

But it was probably for the best if he and Grace parted company. The same conclusion Cole had reached twelve years ago.

“There you are!”

Cole turned at the sound of a familiar voice and saw the auctioneer chugging toward them across the lawn.

“You left before I had a chance to give you this.” The man stopped at the edge of the blanket and waved an envelope under Grace’s nose. “It’s the roster with the names of the people who signed up for your first tour.”

“Thank you, Mayor.” She practically snatched it out of the man’s hand.

“You look familiar.” The man’s attention shifted to Cole now. His snow-white mustache, waxed into points, hung from the shelf of his upper lip like icicles. “Do you have family around here?”

Cole didn’t know what to say, not sure he was comfortable claiming a relationship with Sloan, one based solely on DNA.

To his surprise, Grace stepped into the silence. “This is Cole Merrick, Mayor Dodd.”

“Sloan’s grandson?”

“That’s right.” The words stuck in Cole’s throat.

“Sloan would be thrilled to know you’re back, son.” The mayor clapped him on the back. “That piece of land meant a lot to him.”

Cole smiled.

“It means a lot to me, too, sir.”

The down payment on a new plane.

Chapter Four

“I wanna drink, Mama!”

Grace heard the cheerful announcement a split second before a preschool girl popped up on the other side of the beverage table set up in the corner of Daniel Redstone’s barn. A pair of big blue eyes locked on the glass dispenser of ice-cold lemonade that Grace had filled before the square dance started.

“All right.” The girl’s mother repositioned the sleeping infant cradled in her arms and smiled at Grace. “We’ll take one cup, please.”

Grace ladled the lemonade into a plastic cup and the woman reached for it at the exact moment her daughter tugged on the strap of the diaper bag to get her attention. It started a chain reaction. Lemonade sloshed over the side of the cup, soaking the mother’s shirt, and the baby woke up.

The woman’s smile disappeared as a piercing cry rent the air.

“Here, Mama!” The girl snatched a napkin from the stack and the rest of them followed, sliding off the table like a miniature avalanche.

Now the woman looked as if she were about to burst into tears. She tried to bend down to pick up the napkins and the diaper bag bumped a corner of the table.

“Let me help,” Grace said quickly as the tower of plastic cups began to sway. She reached for the diaper bag, but suddenly found herself holding the baby, swaddled in a blue blanket, instead.

“Thank you.” The children’s mother began to blot the moisture from her shirt with one of the napkins as she collected the rest of them from the ground. Once Grace recovered from her initial surprise, she smiled down at the infant in her arms.

“Hey, sweetie,” she whispered. “Do you have a smile for me?”

To Grace’s wonder, he stopped crying immediately and stared up at her, his expression changing from absolute misery to utter delight in the blink of an eye. The scent of baby powder and lotion washed over Grace, sweeter than anything she would find at a perfume counter. The tiny legs pedaled inside the blanket and Grace chuckled.

“How many do you have?”

Grace glanced up and met the woman’s knowing gaze.

“How many?” she repeated.

“Children.”

“I...none.”

“Really?” The look of astonishment on the woman’s face was flattering. “You look like someone who knows her way around babies.”

The compliment wrapped around Grace’s heart like a hug.

“Not yet,” she murmured, reluctantly turning the baby over to his mother.

The woman planted a kiss on her son’s downy head. “Well, you will someday,” she declared. “And trust me, even with all the commotion and chaos, there’s nothing better than being a mom.”