Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer
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it is.”
When they left five minutes later, Grace had to refill the dispenser and open another package of napkins. She was in the process of filling more cups of lemonade in anticipation of another wave of thirsty dancers when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The temperature rose several degrees, weighting the air and making it difficult to breathe.
Two possibilities collided and neither one would bring the evening to a pleasant conclusion.
Either she was having some kind of allergic reaction to the egg salad or...
Grace slid a cautious, sideways glance at the entrance of the barn. The ladle in her hand tipped sideways, sending a stream of lemonade running down the side of the cup and onto the checkered tablecloth.
What is going on, Lord? If this is some kind of test, I should have had a chance to study for it!
Because Cole was framed between the rough-hewn timbers of the doorway, backlit by the setting sun as if he’d been photoshopped there. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his angular jaw and the strands of dark hair across his forehead were carelessly mussed. The sleeves of his lightweight cotton shirt were rolled back to reveal tanned forearms. Both hands tucked into the front pockets of faded, boot-cut jeans.
It wasn’t fair that the casual look totally worked for him, Grace thought.
The square dance had started less than an hour ago, but if she had a dollar for every time someone had asked her about the “gorgeous guy” who’d bid on her basket, the city council wouldn’t need the money they’d raised at the box social. Grace could have singlehandedly funded the new playground equipment at the park herself.
Not only that, Kate and Abby had ambushed her in the parking lot, anxious to hear all the details about the lunch she and Cole had shared.
Her friends had all become engaged or married over the past few years and for some reason, it wasn’t enough that they’d found their happily ever after. They were committed to making sure that Grace found hers, too.
They weren’t happy to discover that he wasn’t going to be at the dance.
“I don’t understand,” Kate had huffed. “Jenna and Dev were standing right next to Cole during the auction and she said that he looked thrilled when he won your basket. What’s the matter with him?”
Grace remained silent, knowing there probably wasn’t anything wrong with Cole. But based on the way her heart started thumping like a bass drum whenever he smiled, there was definitely something wrong with her.
Because Grace had already been exposed to that smile, you’d think she would have built up, oh, some sort of immunity over the years.
During the short amount of time they’d spent together at the box social, she’d had to remind herself—frequently—that Cole wasn’t her friend. He was the one who’d broken her heart.
But the most disturbing thing was, Grace couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he possessed the power to do it again.
She watched Cole begin to weave his way between the clusters of people. Her gaze skipped ahead of him in a panicked attempt to guess his destination.
And landed on Kate and Abby, taking a break from the dancing on one of the wooden benches that lined the wall.
Her friends looked up as Cole stopped right in front of them.
Don’t be paranoid, Grace chided herself. Just because he hasn’t left town yet, it doesn’t mean he’s looking for you.
Abby and Kate were both laughing now at something that Cole said, as if they’d known him for years. Then they exchanged a knowing look that made Grace’s blood run cold.
Don’t do it! she silently pleaded. Don’t. Do. It.
Two hands lifted. Two fingers pointed in her direction.
And Grace took cover behind the nearest post.
* * *
“That’s strange.” Abby O’Halloran rose to her feet, a frown puckering her forehead. “I just saw Grace behind the beverage table a few seconds ago.”
Cole shifted his weight and tried to see over the heads of the couples that whirled past him. Given the number of people packed in the barn, the entire population of Mirror Lake must have turned out for the event.
The space behind the beverage table was empty. Where had she...
Cole saw a dab of yellow calico peeking out from behind one of the weathered support beams.
“Thanks.” He smiled at Grace’s friends. “I’ll head over there and see if I can find her.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind about escorting Grace to the dance tonight,” Kate said.
Changed his mind?
If it hadn’t been for Candy Sullivan, Cole wouldn’t have known that he was supposed to be Grace’s escort that
evening.
After she’d left him, Cole had finished his lunch and set out to find the elusive Marty Sullivan. The man had managed to elude him all afternoon, but Cole had received a tip—from a guy collecting aluminum cans in the alley—that Candy Sullivan always checked her bid on eBay before she locked up for the day. Cole set up a stakeout at the law office and waited. Sure enough, his informant was right. Candy had shown up sixty seconds before closing time.
“I know this is probably a bad time—” He had followed her inside and flashed what he’d hoped was a charming smile.
Candy hadn’t been charmed.
“Can’t whatever business you have with Marty wait until Monday morning?” She’d glared at him over her computer monitor. “Some things are more important than business, you know.”
Right. Things like box socials, square dances, Pin the Tail on the Donkey and whatever else was in the works for Mirror Lake’s birthday celebration.
Finally acknowledging that resistance was futile, Cole had given in. “When will he have time to meet with me?”
“Monday morning. Nine o’clock.” Candy scooped up a snakeskin purse roughly the size and shape of a bicycle tire from the floor. “Now you better get on over to the Redstones’ place before Grace thinks you stood her up.”
“Stood her up?”
“You won her basket at the box social, you’re her date.”
“For the square dance?”
“For everything.” Before Cole had a chance to ask Candy to clarify that cryptic response, she marched to the door, grumbling. “The last thing a woman needs is a guy who won’t step up to the plate and do the right thing.”
The words had continued to cycle through Cole’s mind on his way to the parking lot.
He had done the right thing.
It was the reason he’d left Mirror Lake.
And Grace.
* * *
When a large, masculine hand curled around the beam a few inches above her head, Grace realized she should have hidden behind something larger. Like a bale of hay. Or the rain barrel.
She dared to look up and found herself neatly trapped in a pair of cedar-green eyes.
“Cole.”
“Grace.” The crooked smile made an appearance, but it wasn’t the boyish one that she remembered. This was a potent, take-no-prisoners grown-up smile. And it packed more of a wallop than Delia Peake’s cane.
She retreated to the beverage table again and poured a glass of lemonade. For herself. Because her mouth had gone as dry as the sawdust scattered on the floor.
Cole propped a hip against the side of the table, clearly in no hurry to leave. “That