Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer
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truck is the third one from the end,” someone called. “Silver Ford.”
“Thanks,” Cole called back, unable to keep the smile out of his voice as he dodged an abandoned stroller.
A hundred feet away, he saw the silhouette of a woman with her back against the door of a compact pickup truck, the vehicle of choice in this area of the state. Grace’s head was tipped toward the sky, eyes trained on a band of moonlight that spilled through a seam in the clouds. Her lips were moving, and Cole knew she wasn’t talking to herself, she was talking to God.
Her strong faith had both mystified and challenged him when they’d first met. After his father died, Cole wasn’t sure whether to blame God or ignore Him completely. Grace was the one who’d said it was okay to be honest and simply tell Him that.
Cole felt something inside him shift and break loose from its moorings. What would his life be like if he’d told Grace the truth about his family? Would she have waited for him? Or run in the opposite direction?
Not that it mattered now. He’d made the decision for them and never looked back.
Cole took another step forward, feeling very much like the intruder that he was.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Grace started at the sound of his voice but didn’t look at him. The gravel crunched under Cole’s feet as he made his way to her side.
“It’s not your fault.” She sighed. “I should have told you the box social was the kickoff for the other events this weekend, but...”
She hadn’t thought he’d stick around.
Cole was tempted to apologize, except he wasn’t sure he was sorry things had worked out this way. A plan slowly began to take shape in his mind.
“So, what’s the next step?” he asked.
“The next step?” she repeated cautiously. “I’ll call Kate when I get home, and we’ll figure something out.”
“What’s to figure out?”
Grace blinked. “If it’s too late for me to drop out of the competition. Or if I need to find someone to take your place.”
For some reason, neither one of those choices sat well with Cole.
“It’s my fault you don’t have a partner for this little competition tomorrow,” he pointed out.
“The fact that you used the words ‘little competition’ only proves you have no idea what you’re getting into,” Grace said. “People have been talking about this for weeks. It’s one of the highlights of the celebration.”
“And you’re trying to talk me out of competing tomorrow because?”
“You aren’t going to be here.” Grace’s eyes met his. “Are you?”
That had been his original intention, but things had changed and Cole decided to go with it.
“You didn’t plan on any of this,” Grace went on. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
Obligated wasn’t quite the word Cole would have chosen.
“I’ll be your partner tomorrow.”
The moon slipped behind a cloud and Cole could no longer see Grace’s expression.
“What made you decide to stay?” she asked after a moment.
Cole smiled.
“You did.”
* * *
The next morning, Grace took a slow lap around the living room, coffee cup in hand, and glanced at the clock for what had to be the hundredth time since the alarm had gone off.
Maybe Cole wouldn’t show.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t given him an opportunity to back out of the competition.
After she’d given him a more compelling reason to stay.
Fragments of the conversation they’d had the night before circled through her memory.
What made you decide to stay?
You did.
Grace was still kicking herself over that one. She shouldn’t have made the comment about Sloan’s place needing a little TLC. But she’d been so rattled when Sissy announced that Cole planned to sell it that she hadn’t been thinking clearly.
But because she’d brought it up, Cole had decided to stick around and tackle a few minor repairs after the competition. A win-win situation, he’d told her right before he’d left.
But even though Cole had claimed it was his fault if she were left without a partner for the competition, Grace wondered if he would have stayed if he hadn’t scheduled two meetings for Monday morning.
To sell the land, as Sissy had so boldly pointed out, that had been in his family for over a hundred years.
As soon as the thought swept through her mind, Grace knew that she was being unfair. Cole’s father had grown up in the brick house next door but moved away from Mirror Lake after he married Cole’s mother. It had caused a rift in the family; Sloan blamed Debra for taking his son away and had never forgiven her.
Why would Cole feel any sentimental attachment to the property?
Or anything else, for that matter.
She set that thought firmly aside. She and Cole would be together for a few hours and then part company. Grace had tours scheduled in the afternoon, and Cole would be busy sprucing up the house he couldn’t wait to put on the market.
He might have felt obligated to be her partner for the competition, but that didn’t mean he had to accompany her to the bonfire and fireworks at Abby’s bed-and-breakfast that evening or to the outdoor worship service that Matt, her pastor at Church of the Pines, planned to lead on Sunday morning.
On her way to the kitchen, Grace caught a glimpse of her reflection in the oval mirror and cringed. The white shirtwaist paired with a simple, ankle-length cotton skirt provided more freedom of movement than the gown she’d worn the day before, but the men definitely had an advantage over the women during the competition. The men didn’t have petticoats to deal with. Hopefully no one would notice she was wearing her cowboy boots.
“Grace?” A tap on the front door accompanied the low rumble of a masculine voice.
She froze. Maybe she could pretend—
“I know you’re home. You’re too cautious to leave the house with a candle burning.”
Grace scowled at the votive in the windowsill, not sure whether she should be insulted or flattered by Cole’s description.
“Maybe I’m not cautious anymore,” she muttered, petticoats hissing as she strode to the door.
Cole chuckled.
Because he’d heard her.
To make matters worse, he looked...great. Hair still damp from a recent shower. A white T-shirt that stretched across his muscular chest and accentuated the broad shoulders.
If Grace were honest with herself, she knew it wasn’t Cole’s presence that had her emotions tied in knots. It was her reaction to his presence. Rapid pulse. Flushed cheeks. Weak knees. The side effects were so dangerous, the guy should come with a warning label from the surgeon general.
Cole’s gaze swept over her and his smile widened. “Cute.”
“The men are supposed to dress in costume, too.”
“I didn’t shave this morning, does that count?” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw.
It counted as one more reason to dive into the coat closet and stay there until Monday afternoon. Because the shadow of whiskers, combined with the spark of