A Love Worth Waiting For. Jillian Hart
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a company to keep afloat while I’m here.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a vacation? You know, where you leave your desk and phone behind and go someplace and enjoy recreation?”
“I’ve heard of it. Never tried it myself. Could be addictive and destroy my carefully guarded work ethic.”
“No wonder you look like death warmed over. You really don’t look well.”
She’d hit a nerve, but he didn’t want her to know that. Whatever his problems were, they were his. That’s the way he was made—he could solve his own troubles. “I’m jet-lagged. Just came back from Japan.”
“That would explain it. Okay, you’re off the hook. For now.”
He deposited his suitcase and garment bag on the floor. Now what? How did he tell his sister, who loved him and thought she was doing the best for him, that he didn’t know about the state of his health? When he’d flown in from Tokyo last week, he’d spent the night in the emergency room.
He opted not to tell her and snapped the seat belt into place instead.
Hope negotiated her minivan through the airport traffic and soon they were pulling onto the freeway. The Christian country music on the radio mumbled in the background as the miles sped by. Noah stared out the window at the road ribboning between gently rolling fields. The rugged snow-capped mountains, dead ahead, rose up from the horizon to touch the enormous blue sky.
Peace. For a brief moment, the restlessness within him stilled. What would it be like to live here, spend each day absorbing the beauty and the quiet, letting serenity settle over like the sun from above?
Then his cell phone rang, and Hope glared at him in that sisterly way that said she was still worried about him.
Not able to tell her why he had to work, why there would be no peace for him, he took the call.
The church hall was warm and friendly despite the darkening storm outside, and the heater clicked on just as Julie Renton was stretching on tiptoe on the second-to-the-top step on the ladder. The crepe paper rustled as she pressed it to the ceiling. The air current from the nearby duct tore the streamer of pink from her fingers and sent it fluttering to the carpeted floor.
On the other end of the streamer, Susan Whitly cried out in protest as the end she was securing to the opposite corner popped out of her grip.
“Sorry.” Laughing, Julie scurried down the step-ladder to rescue the crepe paper. “Doom strikes again.”
“The more you say the word doom, the more it’s going to follow you around like a dark cloud,” Misty Collins called from the corner where she was draping the last of the tables with beautiful shimmery pink cloths. “Everything’s coming along fine. We’ll be done in time for the party.”
“I can’t help seeing disaster.” Julie glanced around the large hall, already half-decorated thanks to her very best friends. “Granddad’s had it tough over the past few years. Now that he’s found happiness, I want this party to be perfect. To sort of kick off this exciting new phase of his life.”
“With all the hard work you’ve done and the plans you’ve made, it will be beautiful,” Susan assured her from high atop the other ladder. “Your grandfather is going to have a wonderful time.”
“I’m praying that you’re right!”
The party had to be perfect for him, Julie thought as she climbed up the rickety ladder. It wasn’t every day a girl’s grandfather got engaged. After being a widower for so long, Granddad deserved as much joy as he could get.
He’d been the only close family she’d had after Mom left.
“They say Nora’s grandson is coming tonight.” Misty smoothed wrinkles from the tablecloth. “You know, the really rich one.”
Julie inwardly groaned. She was under enough pressure with this party going well. “I don’t want to think about the billionaire.”
“Why not?” Misty opened a package of lace place mats. “I mean, he’s a billionaire. You know. With billions of dollars.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s nice.” Julie pressed the streamer into place. “Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he’s gracious or polite or even understanding about a party for his grandmother. He’s probably used to events far more lavish than we could ever dream of. What if he doesn’t think our efforts are good enough and isn’t afraid to say so?”
“Julie, don’t worry.” Susan leaned the ladder safely against the wall. “This Mr. Ashton may be rich, but he’s got to have a heart. He has to want his grandmother to be happy.”
“What if he thinks my grandfather isn’t good enough for his grandmother?” Julie’s throat felt tight as she tossed the tape roll into the cardboard box she’d brought all her supplies in.
“Who knows? Rich Mr. James Noah Ashton the Third was on the cover of some magazine I was reading at the dentist’s office. He lives a grand lifestyle.” Misty argued. “I wouldn’t mind some of that.”
“Hey, I saw that picture and I thought he was to-die-for,” Susan added. “He looked really nice. Like a real gentleman.”
Hmm, a gentleman? Julie wasn’t too sure about that. “Can you really tell from a magazine picture? Especially where they airbrushed away all his flaws?”
“What flaws? Judging by the picture, I don’t think the man has one itty-bitty imperfection.”
Julie sighed and didn’t say a word. The indentation on her left ring finger remained from the engagement ring she’d worn for over a year. She definitely knew about men’s imperfections. Specifically their unwillingness to commit.
“Maybe this Ashton guy isn’t so bad,” Misty argued. “Even if he does have blemishes or scars or something. His coming here to our little town, don’t you think it’s like a fairy tale? He could be my Prince Charming come to rescue me.”
Julie helped Misty with the last of the candlesticks. “I love that you’re an optimist, but believe me, I don’t think Prince Charming exists.”
“They do on my daily soap opera,” she insisted. “Don’t mess with my dreams.”
Everyone laughed, even Julie. Okay, so she was a little disillusioned. She didn’t mean to be. It had been a difficult year, learning to set aside her long-cherished dreams of a husband and children of her own. Her heart still ached.
Maybe someday her own prince would come, a man who wouldn’t leave her, who’d never let her down.
It was a prayer, a wish really, and Julie knew deep in her heart it was one wish that would never come true.
The sound of the car door closing shot like a bullet in the quiet. Probably Granddad. Right on time, as always.
“Is that our promised pizza?”
“And our reliable deliveryman,” Julie confirmed. “I’d better go help him. You guys stay here and put up your feet.”
Cold wind hit her face, reminding her that winter was on its way. Soon, Granddad’s wedding would be here, and she’d be celebrating the holidays alone.
But it’s good for him, Julie reminded herself, and let the cold wind blow over her, chasing away the heaviness of lost dreams. She had friends, and she still had her grandfather, who was heading her way, awkwardly balancing a couple of pizza cartons.
“Julie!” he called out, his voice deep and robust, the way an old cowboy should sound. “I hope I got the order right. Good thing is they’re still hot.”
“You’re my favorite granddad for doing this.” She ducked his Stetson brim to kiss him on the cheek, cool from the chilly air.
“Least I could do for the girls who are making my Nora’s party special.”