Heaven Sent and His Hometown Girl: Heaven Sent / His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart
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a deep chasm breaking his heart into pieces and he stepped back, searching but not finding words to begin to explain.
“Bye, boys,” Hope called, lifting a hand, looking as attractive and beautiful as morning, and he wished….
A part of him wished.
The boys called out in answer, grumbling first, then telling him about every aspect of their afternoon with Hope. How she’d let them dig holes for the baby corn plants, how they’d watered the garden and got into a water fight, and the chocolate cookies she’d given them.
She’d taken their pictures, and they climbed trees and ran through the sprinkler until they were cold. Their happiness filled the cab of the truck but it didn’t touch him as he first belted each boy in tight, then climbed in behind the steering wheel.
He could see Hope through the shivering leaves of the willows as she set the sprinkler in the backyard. Then the boughs moved, blown by a harsher wind, signaling the first edge of a storm and hiding her from his sight. But not from his mind.
Wishing, aware of a great emptiness in the deepest part of him, he headed down the road, straight toward the dark shadow of gathering angry clouds, already dreading the night ahead.
“I happened to see you and Matthew talking alone together,” Nanna commented, patting the sheets smooth over her legs to make a place for the supper tray. “You two sure look like you’re getting along well.”
“Why wouldn’t we? We’re on the Founder’s Days planning committee together, thanks to you and Patsy, so we have to find a way to cooperate. And what were you doing out of bed?” Hope set the tray into place and checked the wooden legs to make sure they were locked and sturdy. “Don’t tell me you got up without anyone noticing.”
“I could hear you two talking because my window is wide open.” Nanna’s bright eyes spoke of something more as she unfolded the paper napkin and spread it over her lap. “Sounds like those boys of his have really taken to you.”
“They’re nice boys, and I know where you’re headed, so don’t go there and say grace instead.”
Nanna chuckled. “’Fools think they need no advice, but the wise ones listen to others.’ I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you need roots, Hope. You’re like me, and I watched you with Matthew’s boys today. You had joy in your eyes for the first time since you’ve come back, and it makes my heart glad.”
“I like children. I never said I didn’t. You have to stop this pressure, Nanna. I know what you expect from me and what you want from me.” Her stomach burned, and she could feel the day’s lightness slipping away.
A great emptiness opened up inside her, an emptiness that hurt. How did a person know that love would last?
Love didn’t come with guarantees.
Tucking away her fears, Hope decided to take charge of the conversation. “Now say grace because I’m starving.”
Over the pleasant supper, Hope steered far away from Matthew and made a point to ask about the people in town she’d known as a teenager and how they were doing now. Nanna’s exhaustion caught up with her. Her nighttime medication put her to sleep before she had time for her prayers and chamomile tea, so Hope took the pot with her to the living room.
Wind whipped through the open windows, lashing the lace curtains without mercy. With the scent of imminent thunder and rain strong in the air, Hope wrestled with the stubborn, warped wood window frames and wondered how on earth Nanna had managed to strong-arm these windows for so long.
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