Mending The Widow's Heart

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u5cc924aa-cd0f-5887-a101-e9ba2f9fb7e7)

Holly Andrews was lost.

In the relatively tame wilds of New Hampshire, no less, and with a perfectly functioning navigation system. How it had happened, she had no clue, but as she swept a glance through the drizzly, empty landscape surrounding her, she couldn’t come to any other conclusion.

It was early June, and the trip from Boston north to Portsmouth had been easy enough. From there, the drive had gone so well, on wide highways bordered by enormous trees and mile after mile of wildflowers. For the past hour, though, she’d been hugging her side of a narrow two-lane road that could barely be classified as paved. So far, she’d narrowly avoided four humongous tractors, three runaway cows and a flock of white geese that had taken their sweet time crossing to a pond on the other side.

“Mom?”

Forcing sweetness into her voice to cover her irritation, she smiled into the rearview mirror at her eight-year-old son. “Yes, Chase?”

“Are we lost?”

“Of course not,” she insisted in the most upbeat voice she could manage. As a former military wife, she’d had plenty of practice with that. Tapping the navigation screen, she added, “The computer knows right where we are.”

“But do you?”

Sometimes she thought he was way too smart for his own good. Like his father, she added sadly. It had been two years since she’d buried him in a hero’s grave to honor his devotion to the country he’d loved. But every once in a while, when she least expected it, the darkness that had dominated the end of Brady’s life still reached out and ambushed her.

Calling up every ounce of determination she had, she pushed the grimness aside and focused on getting them to her aunt’s new home in the quaintly named village of Liberty Creek. After fighting the past for so long, Holly believed it would be refreshing to put that behind her and look to the future. With their savings nearly gone, her part-time retail work wouldn’t be enough to support them, and she recognized that a new career for her was an absolute must. The trouble was that while she’d been caring full-time for her family, she’d sunk to the bottom of her own priority list. Somewhere along the line she’d lost sight of the things she’d once enjoyed so much.

Time away from Boston was exactly what she needed to help her focus on what should come next. If she couldn’t figure out a way to be content there, she’d have no choice but to uproot them and start over somewhere else. She hated to take Chase from the only home he’d known, but she knew it would be better to move him soon so he could make new friends more easily than he would in high school.

But right now, she needed to find this seemingly invisible town. She was just about to pull over and put out an SOS when she noticed a crisp white sign up ahead.

Welcome to Liberty Creek.

She followed the gentle curve, craning her neck to make sure no surprises popped up out of the mist. At least now she could be sure she was in the right place. Her thought was promptly confirmed by the system chirping, “You have reached your destination.”

“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” Holly muttered, reaching over to mute the annoying computer voice. Now that the car was silent, she could make out the smack of large raindrops as they began pelting the windshield. When she switched on the wipers she’d forgotten to replace before leaving, they left unhelpful streaks across the bug-spattered glass. Perfect. For Chase’s sake, she summoned a chipper tone. “Almost there.”

“Good job, Mom. I knew you could do it.”

Her ray of sunshine, she mused with a smile. Ever since the moment when the delivery room nurse settled him in Holly’s arms, Chase had been the single bright spot in more of her days than she cared to recall. She honestly had no idea where she’d be without him.

“I forgot to mention that I got an email from your teacher this morning. You aced the assessment they had you take to let you leave school a couple weeks early.”

“That’s cool,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone that told her he’d expected the result. “The tests were easy, and Mrs. Graves said I finished in record time.”

“So we should be looking at colleges, then?” Though she was teasing, she was immensely proud of Chase’s accomplishments, both in and out of the classroom. Considering all they’d been through as a family, it was a blessing to know that her boy had managed to keep his head on straight.

“Maybe next year. I’m hoping to get Miss Farmer for third grade.”

His comment gave her a twinge of guilt for her earlier thoughts about moving, but she shoved the negative emotion aside. “Why is that?”

“She likes the Red Sox,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.

But Holly knew him better than that, and she couldn’t help smiling. “What else?”

“Well...” He stalled, then laughed. “She’s pretty, and she adopted a dog from a shelter and named him Fenway.”

That sounded more like it, Holly thought as she navigated yet another turn. The weak afternoon light did little to cut through the descending fog, and she had to really concentrate to keep her car on the proper side of the unmarked road. Because she was focusing so intently on that, her next glance into the distance made her squeak with surprise and hit the brakes.

There, not twenty feet away, stood a one-lane covered bridge. Sporting faded white paint and a walkway along one side, it conjured up all the Currier and Ives Christmas cards she’d gotten over the years. As she drove across the wooden planking and out the other end, the mist parted around a scene straight out of an artist’s dream: a village that looked like it had been built centuries ago and had somehow managed to stay there.

Buildings made of brick and classic New England clapboards lined Main Street, their green-and-white-striped awnings dripping water onto people scurrying to get out of the rain. The street was paved, but well-worn cobblestones ran along both sides in a charming nod to the past. In the square, a white gazebo was nestled under massive trees that looked old enough to predate the town, if that was even possible. The business district covered less than three blocks, so it took her about two seconds to find the place she was looking for: Ellie’s Bakery and Bike Rentals.

After parking in an open spot across the street, she swiveled to look back at Chase. “It’s pouring, and I should only be a sec. Do you want to wait here where it’s dry?”

“I kind of have to use the bathroom.”

Grinning, she tilted her head. “Kind of?” He nodded, and she said, “Let’s go, then.”

As he unbuckled his seat belt, she caught herself remembering all the years of dealing with car seats and toddler boosters. Had it really been just a year ago that he’d outgrown the last of them? Mom was right—your own childhood dragged by, but when you were a mom, your kids grew up at warp speed.

Since the rain seemed to have settled in for the duration, Holly pulled up the hood on Chase’s sweatshirt, and they made a run for the antique front door. From what she could see through the glass, the place looked deserted. There was no Closed sign posted, so she yanked on the brass handle and was relieved when the door opened. She could hear muted big band music playing in the kitchen, but out front the scattered tables and long lunch counter stood completely empty.

“Hello?” She waited for a moment, then called out again.

She was just about to give up when something ominous rumbled underneath a set of old-fashioned ice-cream soda dispensers. It sounded like a displeased grizzly bear, and she instinctively drew Chase back a step when a pair of enormous hands appeared on the countertop. They were connected to a set of muscular forearms clad in denim, and as their owner appeared, it was all she could do to keep from turning and bolting back the way they’d come.

Six and a half feet, easy, he brought to mind the massive trees in the square. Tall, unyielding, built to withstand a storm and keep on going. His light brown hair was a little too long for her taste, and his icy blue eyes held a laser sharpness that would make anyone think twice about approaching him. “Can I help you?”

His less-than-friendly demeanor was off-putting, but she forced herself to smile. “I’m so sorry to intrude like this, but I’m Holly Andrews. Daphne Mills’s niece,” she added, hoping that dropping her famous aunt’s name would gain her some points. It didn’t seem to work, but he didn’t ask her to leave, so she boldly forged ahead. “When she hurt her back, she asked us to come help out until she feels better. We drove up from Boston today, and she said she was going to leave an envelope for me here.”

The man’s eyes darkened to a stony gray, and Holly replayed her introduction in her head, wondering what she might have said to warrant such a cool reaction. But the gloomy look vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she chalked her impression up to a long drive and the cloudy weather.

“Daphne mentioned something about that to me the other day,” he finally answered. “I think Gran put it behind here somewhere.”

As he began to disappear under the counter again, she moved forward to get his attention. “I hate to bother you, but my son needs to use the restroom. Could you point it out for us?”

He obliged her, and Chase zoomed off in the direction the man had nodded. That left Holly more or less alone with a stranger, and since he was obviously a friend of her favorite aunt, she decided that just wouldn’t do. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

He muttered something beneath his breath and rose with a grimace. “Yeah, I still forget sometimes. Sam Calhoun. I’d shake your hand, but—” Frowning, he showed her his filthy palms.

The collection of grim expressions he’d displayed, combined with his comment about sometimes forgetting to introduce himself, intrigued her more than they should have. Something about him screamed “wounded,” but she couldn’t quite figure out why. Then she noticed the outline of something rectangular dangling under his T-shirt, and she had her answer. “Military, right?”

“I was an Army Ranger.” His eyes narrowed into cynical slits. “How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch.” She nearly left it at that, then recalled her therapist’s advice about not hiding her difficult past and took a quiet breath before explaining. “My late husband, Brady, was a Marine.”