Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl: Heaven Sent / His Hometown Girl

“How do you know?” His question set her on edge, as if she didn’t love her grandmother. As if all the times she’d flown Nanna out to California for every holiday didn’t count. Or the vacation they went on every year.

“You didn’t show up for the ten-year reunion. Everybody talked about it.”

“They did?” Except for a few close friends she’d made, she hadn’t even thought of the small town where she’d spent one year of her teenage life. But it had been a pivotal year for her, emotionally and spiritually. “I got an invitation, but I was—”

“In Venice,” he finished with a lopsided grin. “I heard that, too.”

“I was working.”

“On a new book. I know.” He slowed down as a pronghorn antelope leaped across the road.

“Look at that.” Hope’s chest caught. The fragile animal flew through the air with grace and speed. The light sheened on the antelope’s white flanks and tan markings. In a flash, it was gone, leaving only the dark road behind.

“I’ve seen thousands of them, but it takes my breath away every time.” Matthew’s grin was genuine, and for a moment it felt as if they’d touched.

As if they were no longer practically strangers and all the differences in their lives and in their experiences had vanished. She saw his loneliness and shadows.

Then she tore her gaze from his. She was being foolish, really. She and Matthew Sheridan had nothing in common—the three car seats in the back were proof of that.

Silence settled between them as he drove, and she welcomed it. The loneliness she’d witnessed in Matthew’s eyes troubled her. Maybe because she didn’t want to be reminded of the loneliness in her life, a loneliness that had no solution. She didn’t want love, she didn’t want marriage. She didn’t even want to feel her heart flicker once in the presence of a handsome man.

She was surviving just fine on her own. God was in her corner, and that was enough. Even on the loneliest of nights.

“Thanks for the ride, Matthew.” Her fingers fumbled for the door handle in the near dark. “I know you had to go out of your way.”

“Not too far. And it’s always my pleasure to help out one of Manhattan, Montana’s most esteemed citizens. Or ex-citizens.” His gaze didn’t meet hers as he hopped out of the truck.

Maybe he’d felt the same way as she did, that when their gazes had met, she’d seen something far too personal. Her feet hit the muddy ground. “Matthew?”

He didn’t look up as he tugged out her carry-on, heavy with her computer and camera equipment, and two suitcases. “Go on ahead, get out of this rain. I’ll bring your things.”

“That’s not right.” She eased around to take her baggage, but Matthew’s grip remained firm on the leather handles. “You’ve done enough. I’m more than capable of carrying my own bags.”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough.” As if insulted, he shouldered past her. “I was raised to look after stranded women in distress.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“I’m sure you have.” Matthew set the bags down on the front porch next to the neatly painted swing and pulled back the squeaky screen door.

She’d forgotten how macho and strong men were in Montana. Plus, she figured she was right. She’d seen loneliness in his eyes, a loneliness they might have in common, and that bothered her.

His wide knuckles rapped on the wood frame. “I’ll get a hold of Zach at first light.”

“Matthew, you’ve done more than enough. You haven’t seen me since high school and—”

“It’s just the way I’m made, Hope. Or should I say Miss Ashton?” He tipped his Stetson and backed down the steps and into the darkness, distant but kind. “Give my best to your grandmother.”

She opened her mouth, but the words fumbled on her tongue. She didn’t know what to say to make things right between them. He’d gone out of his way to help her, as one good neighbor helps another, and instead of recognizing that, she’d put up the same old defenses.

Some lessons in life were hard to let go of, no matter how much she prayed.

She heard Matthew’s truck pull away. Red taillights glowed in the black sheets of rain plummeting from sky to earth. She would have to find a way to make things right, to thank him for helping her when he didn’t have to.

The door squeaked open, and a woman in a teal tunic and slacks smiled at her. “You must be Nora’s granddaughter. Goodness, she’s been talking of nothing else all day. Come in, dear. Heavens, but you’re soaked clear through to the skin.”

“My Jeep broke down and stranded me.”

“No!” The nurse looked stricken. “And on a night like this. Haven’t seen a storm as bad as this in some time. Was that Matthew Sheridan’s truck I saw driving away?”

“He took pity on me and gave me a ride.”

“Matthew’s a good man. Shame about his wife, though. Let’s get you inside and out of those wet clothes, shall we? My name’s Roberta—” She made a move to grab the carry-on bag.

Hope managed to get there first, hauling all three pieces into the living room. The nurse had enough work to do without waiting on Hope, too.

“Dear, you’re soaked clear through to the skin,” Roberta fussed. “Let me draw a bath for you—”

“Thank you, but no.” Only one thing—one person—mattered. “How’s Nanna?”

“She’s been having trouble sleeping.”

“Because she was waiting up for me? I called her after supper and told her not to—”

“Why, she can’t wait to see you. You and your brother are the only real family she has left.” Roberta bustled into the kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. “As I see it, she’s got the right to worry about you traveling all the way from Italy on your own. And besides, it’s given her something else to think about besides the pain.”

Hope’s stomach fluttered. She hated the thought of her sweet Nanna suffering. “Is she awake?”

“I’m sure she is. Go on up. Do you want to take this to her?”

Hope took the prepared tea tray, thanking the nurse who’d gone to the trouble, and headed upstairs. She knew each step and knew which stair creaked. Memories flooded back, filling her heart, warming her from the inside out.

Some memories weren’t filled with hurt. Like the year she’d spent with Nanna when her parents were divorcing.

As she climbed into the second story, the smell of dried roses, lavender and honeysuckle tickled her nose, just as it had so many years ago.

“Hope? Is that you?” Nanna’s voice trilled like a morning lark, joyful and filled with melody. “Heavens, I’ve worried about you, child. Do you know what time it is?”

“I told you not to expect me until morning.” Hope breezed into the room, unchanged from memory with the lace curtains shimmering like new ivory at the windows, the antiques polished to a shine and the wedding ring quilt draped across the carved, four-poster bed. Just like always.

But the woman beneath the covers was fragile and old, changed from the sprightly grandmother Hope remembered.

Deep affection welled in her heart, and she set the silver tray on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. “Nanna, it’s good to see you.”

“Come give me a hug.”

Hope bent at the waist, lightly folding her arms around the frail woman. Nanna felt delicate and not tough and robust like she’d been at Christmas, less than four months ago. “You smell like honeysuckle.”

“One of my favorites. You should have seen last summer’s garden! Goodness, the sachets and things Helen and I made. We were busy bees. Why, we had the entire basement filled from floor to rafter with drying flowers.” Nanna’s eyes warmed with the happy memory, and she patted the bed beside her. “Dear heart, it’s good to see you, but you’re thinner.”