Making His Way Home

“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.