Love Sign

Shelby draped her arm out the window, letting the air blow through her fingers. In the air there was a fragrance of green growing things and of sun-warmed earth. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with clean country air, willing the stone to roll off her heart. Time, that’s what she needed. Anonymity in which to lick her wounds until she had ceased to flinch at words like marriage and anniversary.

The lane ended in front of a two-story farmhouse. The house, freshly painted, gleamed like a pearl amidst blooming gardens and barn-red outbuildings. Reprieve was so close, she could almost taste it.

“Go on and get squared away. I’ll bring your things,” Jake offered.

The path to the front office was bordered by a bright tangle of nodding flowers. Inside, flowerpots filled the office windowsills. Trailing plants spilled from the pots onto a battered drop-leaf table. There was a coffee urn and cups and glasses and iced lemonade beading a carnival glass pitcher. Shelby pushed the bell. Chimes rang through the house. She helped herself to a glass of lemonade. A young woman came in response to the bell. “May I help you?” she asked, her hoop earrings jangling.

“Yes, I have reservations.” Shelby gave her her name.

The woman sat down at the computer and hit a few keys. When she lifted her yes again, her smile had faded. “I’m sorry. But I don’t seem to have any record of it,” she said.

Shelby set down the half-drained glass of lemonade to retrieve the confirmation number from her checkbook register where she had written it on the day she and Patrick finalized their honeymoon plans.

The young woman typed in the number. Frown lines creased her forehead. “You’re marked out.”

Startled, Shelby protested, “There must be some mistake.”

“Forgive me, you’re right, it wasn’t you.” The young woman turned from the screen to a lined tablet. “It was a man who called to cancel. I wrote it here somewhere.” She ran a finger down to the middle of the page and looked up again. “Patrick Delaney.”

The name washed over Shelby in a bone-skinning tide. Tears threatened. She batted them back, struggling to make mental adjustments. “If the cottage has been rented, a room will do.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re booked here at the house, too.”

Jake was a dozen steps from the house when the front door spit Shelby out onto the garden path. Her cream-colored silk blouse and a fitted skirt molded nicely to feminine curves.

She was almost upon him before she saw him and skidded to a stop. Clouds darkened her eyes. She pressed her full lips together. A pulse hammered at her smooth, white temples.

“There’s been a mix-up. I hate to ask, but could I please have a ride back to town?” she said, and reached for her laptop.

Her effort to keep it together as the morning went from bad to worse put a commiserating knot in Jake’s gut. But her guarded facade warned him against a barrage of questions. He passed her the laptop. Fumbling to take the suitcase, too, she shifted her pocketbook and reached for the suitcase handle.

“Go on, I’ll bring it,” said Jake quickly.

She nodded and turned toward the drive. Jake watched the hem of her skirt trail over tall flowers that sweetened the path. She crossed crushed rock, climbed into the Jeep and settled there, hugging her laptop. Jake rubbed an uncomfortable sensation in his chest, then set her suitcase down and went inside.

“’Morning, Annie.”

Antoinette Penn smiled a welcome from behind the desk. “Hello, Jake. If you’re looking for Trace, he’s not here.”

“I’d heard they’d taken off,” he said and took off his cap. “What happened with Shelby Taylor’s reservations?”

“A guy called this morning and canceled the reservations,” explained Antoinette.

“But if she made the reservations…” began Jake.

“For all I know, they made them together,” Antoinette interjected. “Honeymoons are usually planned that way.”

Startled, Jake blurted, “Honeymoon? She’s getting married?”

“Not anymore. He called it off. That’s the reason he gave for canceling.”

Shelby’s fragile state fell in place like a key fitting tumblers. “So what’s she doing here?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Jake. All I know is the honeymoon cottage is taken.”

Jake swung around and looked out the window. Shelby’s slim arms were still wrapped around her laptop. He had done all he could. And yet…Jake shifted his feet. “How about a room here in the house?”

“Sorry. It’s like I told her, we’re booked.”

“What about Trace and Thomasina’s room? They won’t be needing it,” he reasoned.

“It’s full of their stuff!”

“Under the circumstances, she may not mind.”

“I wasn’t talking about her.” Antoinette drew herself up. “What’re you trying to do—get me fired?”

“Oh, come on,” Jake cajoled. “What’s the point in being in charge if you can’t make an executive decision?”

“Save your breath, Jake. I am not booking Trace and Thomasina’s bedroom. And you can quit looking at me like that, it’s not my fault,” huffed Antoinette.

“She’s shell-shocked,” Jake said. “Jilted, canceled and I dropped the crane on her car.”

“You what?”

“Never mind. Guess I better drive her back to town.”

“I wish you would,” said Antoinette, rubbing her temples. “She’s making my head throb.”

“Mine, too,” Jake said. Though on closer accounting, it was more of a burn than a throb and it wasn’t confined to his head. He rubbed his chest again, reached into his pocket for an antacid tablet and left Antoinette muttering.

Chapter Two

Jake was gone so long, Shelby grew restless. She climbed out of the Jeep and was almost to the farmhouse screen door when she overheard his parting exchange with the desk clerk. He swung out onto the path before she could patch her expression.

Jake blinked finding her there and tipped his cap back, a gesture Shelby was beginning to recognize as habitual.

“No vacancies,” she filled the sudden caught-breath silence.

“Antoinette told me. I said I’d get that,” he said and reached for her suitcase on the walk where he had left it.

“I had a thought while I was waiting…perhaps a room in Liberty Flats,” said Shelby, following him toward the Jeep.

“There’s no motel. It’s a pretty small town,” he said.

Shelby raked her fingers through her curls. Anxious to find herself a place before he began to regard her as a pup he had orphaned and could not leave to fend for herself, she asked, “What about Bloomington?”

“Sure. There are plenty of rooms there if that’s what you want to do,” he said, and opened the Jeep door for her.