Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer
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the pavilion.”
Cole glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might have a few minutes to talk to both his grandfather’s attorney and the Realtor.
Or see Grace again.
He shook away the thought and another one immediately took its place....
Grace sitting on the rock, her bare toes drawing lazy circles in the water while she listened to him recite a passage from his English text. Splashing him if he dared to grumble.
But the Grace he’d encountered the evening before wasn’t the one he remembered. That Grace wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get away from him.
Cole felt a stab of regret for the way things had turned out.
He’d thought about Grace over the years. Pictured her standing in a sunlit classroom against a chalkboard backdrop, the classics fanned out on her desk like a buffet. Each book a sample of a new literary adventure she would encourage reluctant students to try.
He’d never imagined she would become a social worker and continue living in her childhood home. She was the one who’d challenged him to pursue his dreams.
Plans change, she’d said.
But what had changed? Her circumstances? Her goals? She’d told him what she was doing, but not why.
Because it’s none of your business, Cole reminded himself.
And right now, his business was somewhere in the park.
He waited at the corner for a brightly painted ice-cream truck to lumber past before crossing Main Street.
From the looks of it, half the town had already gathered in front of the pavilion. Cole stalked toward the makeshift stage set up in the shade of a towering maple, dodging kids and dogs and several people who looked like extras on the set of Little House on the Prairie.
He paused to look around, trying to find Marty Sullivan’s face in the crowd.
“I think the auction is about to start,” he heard someone say. “Let’s get closer to the stage. I can’t see what I’m bidding on from way back here.”
“Just don’t bid on the one with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. That one’s mine.”
“It’s Grace Eversea’s basket, ain’t it?”
Cole’s head jerked around at the name. He eased around the trunk of the nearest tree so he could eavesdrop—see—better.
Two guys close to his age stood several yards away. One of them was as tall and skinny as a fly rod, with shaggy blond hair and a full beard. The other a businessman of some kind, pale and clean-cut with a smile as tight as the garish purple tie knotted around his neck.
“What if it is?” Purple Tie sounded a wee bit defensive.
“Good luck with that,” Shaggy scoffed.
“You’re just bitter because Grace wouldn’t go to the fireworks with you last Fourth of July.”
“How many times have you struck out?” Shaggy shot back.
“Not as many as you.”
Cole almost smiled. He wasn’t sure why the guy was bragging about it.
“And you think winning her basket is going to make Grace forget the reason she turns down all the guys who ask her out?”
“I know it will. Women love this kind of attention. When I outbid everyone else, she’ll be flattered—”
“And grateful.”
His friend flashed a sly grin. “You got it.”
Cole couldn’t believe it. If he had his way, neither one of them would spend five minutes in Grace’s company. They didn’t deserve her.
“I’ve got twenty dollars.” Purple Tie tapped his back pocket. “Do you think it’ll go for more than that?”
“If it does, I’ve got five I can lend you.”
“Great. Then I’m in.”
Cole dug his wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through the contents as the bidding started.
A slow smile spread across his face.
So was he.
Chapter Three
Grace nibbled on the tip of her fingernail as the mayor’s wife delivered a picnic basket to another smiling couple.
The box social was the 1887 equivalent of a blind date, something she’d managed to avoid in spite of the efforts of well-meaning friends and coworkers. So why had she actually volunteered to participate?
Probably because it had sounded like a fun way to kick off the celebration. But that was before her basket was the one the men would be bidding on.
“We’re down to the last two, gentlemen.” Mayor Dodd’s gaze swept over the crowd as he held up a wicker hamper lined with pink-and-white checked gingham. “And I have to say, something in here smells mighty delicious.”
“Is that one yours?” her friend Abby O’Halloran whispered.
Grace could only nod as the butterflies in her stomach took flight.
“Who will give me five dollars for this basket?” Mayor Dodd bellowed, his voice carrying through the park without the aid of a microphone. “I see your hand back there, mister.”
Grace didn’t dare turn around and see who’d placed the first bid. Abby and Kate, however, had no qualms.
“I can’t see who’s bidding,” Kate complained, stretching up on her tiptoes. “I need a stepladder.”
“Or Alex,” Abby teased, referring to her older brother, who happened to be Kate’s fiancé.
Grace groaned. “Just tell me when it’s over.”
“Five dollars...ten. Do I hear fifteen? Fifteen dollars for this lovely basket and the company of the lovely lady who prepared it. Twenty! Do I hear twenty-five—”
“Thirty dollars.”
“Now you’re talking.” The mayor tucked a thumb inside his brocade vest and strutted across the stage as the crowd cheered, caught up in the friendly competition. “My wife tells me there’s one slice of peach pie in here, which means you’ll have to get close enough to share.”
Abby nudged her. “That was smart.”
“Smart had nothing to do with it,” Grace muttered. “I got hungry last night.”
After returning home from that unexpected encounter with Cole, it had been pie or a pint of rocky road. She’d opted for the treat with a calorie count that didn’t cross over into the triple digits.
“Thirty dollars—who will give me thirty-five?” Mayor Dodd’s eyes narrowed. “The money is for a good cause, gentlemen! New playground equipment for the park—”
“Fifty dollars.”
A second of absolute silence followed the bid. Even Kate was rendered momentarily speechless.
“Fifty dollars. Going once—” Mayor Dodd slammed the gavel down as the crowd began to cheer. “Sold! For fifty dollars.”
“That’s more than Quinn paid for mine.” Abby exchanged a grin with Kate.
“Come up here and get your basket.” Mayor Dodd held it up like a trophy. “And your girl.”
Grace wished the earth would open up and swallow her as she slowly made her way toward the stage.
She’d heard a rumor that Tom Braddock had been bragging to everyone in their department that he was going to win her basket. Tom had asked her out several times over the