A Gift for All Seasons. Karen Templeton
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have some serious atoning to do with this one.
So it’d been with a mix of trepidation and anticipation that he’d pulled up to her house, expecting to see her. Hear her voice. See her smile. That light in her eyes that seared straight through him. Gave him, for lack of a better word, hope.
Only she wasn’t here. And for some reason his brain was having a real hard time processing that information.
Which might account for why he then said to Blythe, “Her husband go with her?”
The blonde frowned. “Her husband?”
“Yeah. Not that I’ve ever seen him, but …” He pointed to his own left hand, the base of his ring finger still slightly indented. “Her rings?”
“Oooh.” Blythe pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure what to say next. “I forget not everyone knows. April’s husband passed away, Patrick. Several months before she returned to St. Mary’s.”
“What?”
Blythe smiled. Gently. “Yep, she’s a widow.”
And if he’d thought he was having trouble processing things before … “But she’s still wearing her rings.”
“Yeah. She is.” Blythe briefly squeezed his shoulder, then walked away, and Patrick’s brain finally kicked in enough to remind him if there was one thing worse than fantasizing about a married woman, it was fantasizing about one still mourning her dead husband.
There weren’t enough Hail Marys in the world.
Later that week—after Blythe had given her the all clear—a small but potent thrill shimmied through April as she pulled onto the road that led back to St. Mary’s Cove.
Back home.
Wow. What a concept. She’d never fully realized how much she’d always thought of the tiny town in that way, even as a kid. Especially as a kid, when visiting her grandmother’s house each summer had been the only constant in a life that was always starting over.
And now she never had to leave again, April thought as the Lexus purred down Main Street, past quaint shops and quirky cafés, mom-and-pop businesses that somehow kept chugging along despite recessions and suburban sprawl. Unless she wanted to, that is. And, boy, was she done with starting over. As exciting as watching the house’s resurrection had been, she couldn’t wait for it to be finished so she could get on with living. Instead of … waiting. As if her life thus far had been a series of canal locks, and she’d finally passed through the last one before the open sea.
Several minutes later, she squinted as the house came into view, glowing peach in the setting sun, and she spotted one of the Shaughnessy and Sons trucks parked off to the side, like a hulking black bear having a snooze. And, yep, her insides flinched. In that “Oh, goody,” but not, kind of way.
Sigh.
Because although April had nothing against family traditions per se, some of them—like, say, being a blamed fool—really shouldn’t be upheld. Logic kept neatly laying out all the reasons why fantasizing about a certain dangerous-looking landscaper was the bad idea to end all bad ideas. Yet this screechy little voice kept whispering: Screw logic and Go for it and What have you got to lose?
Heh. Good one.
Batting away the whisperings like gnats on a summer’s night, April climbed out of the car … and her mouth fell open. Was that the same yard she’d left less than a week before?
A new driveway snaked around what clearly would be a formal garden, complete with some sort of sculpture/fountain in the center that was elegant and whimsical and cutting edge, all at once. Lots of angles, lots of curves. Copper, maybe? Thin, graceful evergreens flanked the porch, giving way to all kinds of bushes and things she couldn’t even begin to identify. It wasn’t entirely finished, of course—she could see large patches of dirt where she assumed more plantings would go, the beginnings of several stone pathways winding through the flower beds—but what was there was spectacular.
“So what do you think?”
Patrick’s low voice behind her nearly made her piddle her pants. She turned, wondering what it was about the half light that turned dangerous into downright delicious. She didn’t even see the scars anymore—well, she saw them, sure, but she also saw past them. More to the point, she felt him. His presence or aura or whatever the heck he exuded, like a bonfire threatening to consume her.
This was beyond bad, wasn’t it?
“I love it,” she finally got out, fingering her rings as she ripped her gaze from his mouth. “Y’all got a lot accomplished in such a short time.”
“There’s bad weather forecast for the weekend. I was trying to beat it.”
Hmm. Sounded friendly enough, but—she glanced back—no smile, no light in the eyes, nothing. Was it her, or was she the only one here being attacked by the lust demons? Nasty wee beasties. Then again, given the hard time she was having catching a breath, maybe not so wee—
“Daddy? Where are you?”
“Out front, baby.”
A moment later, little footsteps pounded on the porch, down the steps, curls bouncing as a visual cacophony of stripes and florals and a half-dozen colors catapulted into her father’s arms, sending the demons scattering to the four winds.
Although the fire … not so much. True, the warmth shifted north to spread through April’s chest, to the base of her throat. But the ache of seeing him hold his little girl consumed her every bit as much as what, moments before, had produced some very imprudent thoughts. Then Patrick gave April a look over his daughter’s head, not of fear, exactly, but certainly wariness.
Don’t take it as a challenge, don’t—
Mel rushed outside, hair a fright, hoodie unzipped, jeans hugging curves April could only dream of, whooshing out a breath when she saw Lilianna in her father’s arms.
“You little scamp,” her cousin mildly scolded over the little girl’s giggles, and April thought, Huh? “You got away from me! Man, I’d forgotten how slippery little kids can be! April!” A grin spread across Mel’s face. “You’re back! Good! Dinner’s almost ready—”
“We’d better be going, then,” Patrick said as a few more Huhs? pinged around in April’s brain.
“The heck you will, I’ve made enough food for half the town. No arguments. Besides, I’m sure Lili wants to taste the cake she helped bake. Wouldn’t you, sweetie?”
Cue vigorous head shake. Big eyes and soft “Uh-huh.” April melting into puddle of goo. Granted, children had been known to get the goo flowing for some time already, but this one …
“Now how could you possibly say no to that?” Mel asked Patrick, and April thought, How, indeed? And, indeed, the big, buff man holding the itty-bitty girl in his big, buff arms made light of things and said in that case, of course they’d stay. But with definite only because it’s not worth the fight undertones.
Undertones which her cousin either didn’t pick up or chose to ignore. April was betting on the latter. “I’ve been experimenting,” Mel said. “Still getting used to the stove. Ryder should be here momentarily—” And yes, at the mention of her fiancé, her cousin went a bit gooey herself. “He’s fetching Quinn from her piano lesson. Well, just don’t stand there. Come on in.”
So everyone trooped through the enlarged entryway leading into the new-and-holy-cow-improved gathering room. “Blythe said she was sorry she couldn’t be here,” Mel went on, oblivious to Patrick’s decided lack of enthusiasm, “she had some kind of ‘emergency’ appointment back in D.C. But she said to let her know if she needs to change anything in your suite.” Then she grinned at Lilianna. “Hey, cutie-patootie, wanna come help set the table?”
“Yeah,