Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer
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Grace jumped in when her friend paused to take a breath. “Who called? What are we adding to the tour?”
“Sloan Merrick’s place.”
Grace’s breath snagged in her lungs, and this time she couldn’t blame it on the corset. “I didn’t think that property was still in the family.”
“I wasn’t sure, either. That’s why I went to the courthouse and did a little investigating.” Kate grinned. “Apparently Sloan left the house and land to his oldest grandson when he died.”
An image rose in Grace’s mind, swift and clear, almost as if it had been lingering just below the surface of her memories, waiting for permission to appear.
Shaggy hair the color of a midnight sky. Crooked smile. Eyes the rich, deep green of a fresh cedar bough.
Cole.
“Right.” Kate’s eyes widened and Grace realized she’d said the name out loud. “Anyway, he apologized for not getting back to me sooner. His only stipulation for letting people tour the property is that we check the cabin first to make sure it’s safe. Isn’t that great?”
“Great,” Grace echoed.
“I’m surprised you remember Cole,” Kate went on. “I don’t think he lived in Mirror Lake very long.”
“A summer,” Grace murmured.
And yes, she remembered.
A girl didn’t forget the first time she’d fallen in love.
Or the first time her heart had been broken.
But she didn’t tell Kate that Cole Merrick had been responsible for both.
* * *
“One hour and twenty-six minutes, B.C.”
The old draft horse stomped a platter-size hoof and tossed an aggravated look at Grace.
Okay, so maybe she hadn’t added in the ten minutes the wagon had been parked in front of the gravel road leading up to Sloan Merrick’s house.
Grace closed her eyes.
What was wrong with her?
Her yard bordered the Merrick property. She’d driven past this exact spot hundreds—no, thousands—of times on her way to work and hadn’t thought about Cole.
But over the past few hours, memories had begun to pop up like dandelions. Grace no sooner yanked one out than another one immediately took its place.
She couldn’t blame Kate. No one, not her parents or even her closest friends, knew that she and Cole had formed an unexpected bond when his family had moved in with Sloan the summer before her senior year of high school. At seventeen, Grace had been shy and bookish; Cole grieving his father’s death and angry at the world in general.
They’d come face-to-face one afternoon in Grace’s favorite spot—a boulder roughly the size and shape of a hammock that jutted out over the lake. Anxious to finish the book tucked under her arm, Grace had stumbled upon a boy trying to light one on fire. An English text, which made it even worse because that happened to be Grace’s favorite subject.
She’d rescued the book and ordered him to leave. Not only had Cole refused, but he’d also returned the next day. And the next. After several days of ignoring each other, a tentative friendship had begun to take root. And as the weeks went by, it had blossomed into something more.
They’d talked about their families. Their fears.
Their future.
That’s why Cole’s abrupt departure had come as such a shock. In the days and weeks that followed, Grace waited for the phone to ring. Checked the mailbox every day. Twice. In time, she’d come to the realization that he hadn’t felt the same way about her.
By the time her senior year of high school ended, Grace had stopped waiting for him. Not thinking about Cole had been a little more challenging, but she had managed it.
Most of the time.
“Come on, B.C. Let’s get this over with and go home.” Grace clicked her tongue and the mare obediently plodded forward, right between two rusty No Trespassing signs hammered to the oak trees that flanked the gravel driveway.
The two-story brick house wasn’t visible from the road, so she hadn’t realized how neglected the property had become since Sloan’s death four and a half years ago. The man had been meticulous in maintaining the spacious grounds, but weeds had taken over the raised vegetable gardens and branches from a recent storm littered the yard.
The original homestead, a rustic cabin with a crumbling layer of white chinking between the logs, sat at the edge of a small pond garnished with cattails. Lilac bushes scented the air with a heady, soul-stirring fragrance that rivaled the perfume counter of an exclusive boutique.
No wonder Kate had wanted to add the Merrick place to the tour. Even in its neglected state, there was something appealing about the structure. A simplicity that reflected a time when life had been the same way.
Grace hopped down from the wide plank seat and looped B.C.’s reins around the weathered pole of an old clothesline. She waded through the tall grass and circled the cabin, on the lookout for potential hazards to curious children and petticoats.
As she rounded the corner, her gaze drifted to a narrow opening between two poplar trees. And even though it wasn’t part of her scheduled tour, Grace was drawn down a path that only existed in her memory.
As the wooded area opened to a small clearing along the shoreline, she stopped dead in her tracks.
A man stood on the rock, hands in his pockets, facing the lake.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who ignored the No Trespassing signs.
Mayor Dodd had warned everyone to prepare for an influx of visitors. Not only had people in the community invited their family and friends to attend the celebration, but Grace’s friend, Jenna, had also mentioned it in the weekly column she wrote for the online edition of Twin City Trends magazine.
As if he sensed Grace’s presence, the stranger turned around to face her, his face shadowed under the brim of a ball cap.
“Sorry.” She took a step back. “I didn’t realize anyone was here—”
“Grace?”
Her breath stuck in her throat.
Either her mind was playing tricks on her...or Cole Merrick was back in Mirror Lake.
* * *
Twelve years disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Cole was seventeen years old again, about to torch a textbook and sprinkle the ashes over the water, when a girl had stumbled into view. Eyes the color of dark chocolate had widened with astonishment when she’d spotted him.
Almost identical to the expression Cole saw on her face now.
Well, he was feeling a little shell-shocked, too, by this unexpected blast from the past.
Grace Eversea. The last person Cole had expected to see.
He automatically took a step toward her.
Grace took another step back.
Cole frowned. He hadn’t changed that much over the years. A few crow’s feet fanning out from his eyes—ones he held Bettina and Travis and Sean, his twin brothers, directly responsible for—but other than that...no tattoos. No piercings. The reflection in the mirror remained pretty much the same.
“It’s me.” He yanked off his cap. “Cole.”
“I know.”
I know?
Those two words might have made Cole feel a little better. If Grace hadn’t tossed a quick look over her shoulder like she was searching for an escape route.
“It’s...been