Falling for Her Boss. Bonnie K. Winn
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you know how many small enterprises like mine are gobbled up every year? I have to make sure that doesn’t happen to Harper. If I delegate away all the problem solving, I might not know if we’re facing a major obstacle.”
“Is it really that likely?” she questioned.
“Adair Petroleum built a large regional office here several years ago to handle their pipeline and trucking operations. The recession hit. Now one of the majors owns it. And most of the local people who worked at Adair found themselves out of jobs. I took on the ones I could, but I didn’t have enough jobs to go around. If something happened to Harper, it would be devastating to this town. I won’t let that happen on my watch.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Rosewood thrives because we, the community, made a conscious decision to keep it alive, to keep out big business and superstores that shut down local mom-and-pop operations. The bed-and-breakfast has been in the same family for generations, the same for the café, bakery, drugstore, hardware... Well, you get the idea. This community takes care of its own. And I’m part of that—I have to be, with so many employees dependent on me. It’s not easy, but if it’s important it’s worth the effort.”
All admirable, Tessa realized. Still... “What about Poppy?”
He frowned. “What about her?”
“She seems a little lonely.”
“Lonely?” he scoffed. “She has me, Dorothy, Alvin, my parents when they visit.”
“It seems she’s only around adults,” Tessa said carefully, hoping not to anger him. “I mean she doesn’t have playdates, the kind of thing other kids do.”
“I didn’t have playdates when I was growing up. My parents were growing the business. I turned out reasonably okay.”
Tessa sensed she wasn’t gaining any ground and was about to be told to mind her own business. “True.” She hesitated, remembering Dorothy’s comment about Morgan no longer attending church. “Does Poppy attend Sunday school?”
“No. Why?”
“Just thinking. There are other kids to interact with. They sing, hear stories, sometimes make an art project.” Wincing, she gave in to another impulse. “I go every Sunday. She could come along with me.”
“I don’t know...”
Not sure of his religious convictions, she tried to be subtle. “Like I said, it’s mostly a social thing. I think Poppy would really like it. I see Cindy and Flynn there.”
He seemed to waver. “What about the church session?”
“She could go to junior church,” Tessa replied. “Lots of singing. Unless you have plans to do something with Poppy tomorrow.”
“No. I have to meet with a pipeline supervisor, Ronnie Broussard. He’s a key man in the field—East Texas. He’s tied up all the time putting out figurative fires. We need this meeting.”
She waited.
“I suppose it would be all right,” he conceded, “for her to go with you tomorrow.”
She wondered if the roses had softened him.
“But no preaching.”
Or not.
“I don’t want her to grow up with false promises,” he continued, “and to believe everything’s going to be all golden.”
Tessa frowned, hating to think the child would be denied the joy of hope. “No?”
“Life has a way of squashing things. It’s ridiculous to believe it can all be changed or fixed.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” she replied quietly. “It’s faith.”
“It’s pointless,” he replied, bitterness infusing the words.
“You must have loved her a great deal.”
Silence was sudden and thick.
“I don’t need your amateur psychology or your meddling.” He turned, his boots a distinctive thud on the stone walkway.
Morgan seemed to take the rose-scented air with him when he left. Too much emotion had been staked out on display today. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to prod him about Poppy, to question him about his late wife.
Following the puddles of moonlight, she made her way to the cottage. But, despite her best intentions, she turned around, watching as Morgan disappeared in the night.
* * *
It was plain to see Poppy was excited to wear her best dress and shoes by the way she eagerly smoothed the skirt. Her dress was blue, almost an exact match to her eyes, broken up with large white polka dots. Along with white tights and glossy white shoes, she was a picture. Her small fingers curled in Tessa’s, sending a responding curl of warmth to her stomach. Such innocent trust in the gesture. If this little girl was hers, Tessa knew she would take walks with her just to capture her hand and hold it close.
“Are other kids gonna be there?” Poppy questioned again.
Tessa smiled, not minding the repetition. “Yes. Lots. You’ll have a good time.”
“Why didn’t Daddy want to come?”
“He’s busy with a special meeting.”
“He always has work,” Poppy replied.
Tessa squeezed the small hand. “But he misses you when he does,” she improvised. Surely that was the case. “You’re way more fun than work.”
Poppy screwed her face into a puzzled frown. “You sure?”
“Very.” Tessa led her small charge into the Sunday school building.
Rosewood Community Church had been constructed in the late 1800s. Weathering storms and even a fire, the faithful congregation kept the building well maintained. True to the Victorian age in which it was built, the lines of the church were classic. And, in Tessa’s opinion, classy. She loved that the floors were constructed of local wood, original to the building. Designated on the historical register, the church conveyed its beautiful spirit visually, as well.
The fire that had erupted several years earlier hadn’t stopped worship. Instead, they pulled together to rebuild. Members of other churches volunteered as well, offering materials, labor and donations. It was a church of the community and it had taken the whole community to repair the damage. But now the scars were scarce. Cindy told her they left one charred piece of timber, now enclosed in a case, to remind them of how fortunate they’d been not to lose the entire structure.
Once at her class, it didn’t take long for Poppy to meet her Sunday school teacher, then greet the other children.
Tessa unobtrusively lingered in the hallway to make certain Poppy would be okay. But the child was all smiles, so Tessa finally made her way to her own class.
Her thoughts remained with Poppy. After Sunday school ended, she darted over to check on junior church, but again, Poppy was fine. Still, Tessa fidgeted during the church service. Usually she appreciated the beauty of the stained-glass windows, the aged wood, the flowers that adorned the altar. It was a place for her thoughts to settle, for her mind to seek solace. But today she glanced at her watch more than her Bible. And the moment the congregation dispersed, she practically ran to the chapel to collect Poppy.
Relieved to see that she was still looking happy, Tessa released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “So, you had a good time?”
“Uh-huh.” Poppy waved a booklet. “And I have stories.”
“That’s great. If it’s okay with your father, we can read them later.”
“Can we come back again?”
“If your father agrees.” All Tessa had previously