Kincaid’s Hope
by
Grace Greene
Kincaid’s Hope
Copyright © 2012, Grace Greene
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781937389802
Digital ISBN: 9781937389826
Editor, Jacquie Daher
Cover Art Design by Grace Greene
Trade Paperback release, February 2012
Digital Release, January 2012
Published by Turquoise Morning Press for Smashwords
Turquoise Morning, LLC
Turquoise Morning, LLC
P.O. Box 43958
Louisville, KY 40253-0958
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This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.
Dedication
Kincaid’s Hope is dedicated to my family: to my biggest supporter and encourager, my husband, and to my faithful beta readers, Amy and Amy and Jill. Thanks for your support and vital help in building my stories.
This book is also dedicated to Sarah Elizabeth, Natalie Claire and Isabella Grace—may they grow to be the people God intended and live their lives in a way that uplifts them and gives them joy.
Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful editor, Jacqueline Daher, for her hard work, clear thinking and excellent guidance.
This dedication for Kincaid’s Hope cannot be complete without my grateful acknowledgment of the Gothic Romance and Romantic Suspense greats. These authors, primarily from the period of the late 1950s through the 1980s, gave me entertainment, suspense and romance—a gentle respite from the hard knocks of real life. These novels have traveled with me through many moves and I still return to them often—like old friends. I owe special gratitude to my husband who carried the boxes through the moves and made shelves to accommodate my beloved collection.
There are too many authors to include them all in this list, but here are a few favorites:
Anne Buxton (1910–1993) pen names Anne Maybury and Katherine Troy
Barbara Mertz (1927– ) pen names Elizabeth Peters and Barbara Michaels
Catherine Cookson (1906–1998)
Catherine Gaskin (1929–2009)
Dorothy Eden (1912–1982)
Eleanor Hibbert (1906 – 1993) pen names Jean Plaidy, Victoria Holt and Philippa Carr
Joan Aiken (1924–2004)
Mary Stewart (1917– )
Norah Lofts (1903–1984)
Peter O’Donnell (1920 –2010) pen name Madeline Brent
Phyllis A. Whitney (1903–2008)
Kincaid’s Hope
Beth Kincaid left her hot temper and unhappy childhood behind and created a life in the city free from untidy emotionalism, but even a tidy life has danger, especially when it falls apart.
In the midst of her personal disasters, Beth is called back to her hometown of Preston, a small town in southwestern Virginia, to settle her guardian’s estate. There, she runs smack into the mess she’d left behind a decade earlier: her alcoholic father, the long-ago sweetheart, Michael, and the poor opinion of almost everyone in town. As she sorts through her guardian’s possessions, Beth discovers that the woman who saved her and raised her had secrets, and the truths revealed begin to chip away at her self-imposed control.
Michael is warmly attentive and Stephen, her ex-fiancé, follows her to Preston to win her back, but it is the man she doesn’t know who could forever end Beth’s chance to build a better, truer life.
Chapter One
She’d built her life before; she could do it again.
Beth Kincaid had awakened before dawn, but the memory of yesterday, of being fired, was a dark, gnarly place in her brain. She pulled the goose down pillow over her head hoping to slip back into sweet oblivion.
Not happening.
She kicked off the covers. She was an early riser and always had been. Apparently, that didn’t change with the circumstances.
First, a hot shower, pounding and steaming, a brisk blow-dry of the hair and then a little makeup—a swish of the hand towel to shine up the faucet completed the morning routine.
Beth shook out her folded jeans and held them up to her waist. She hadn’t seen them in a long time. She sorted through the shirts hanging in the closet, bypassing the silk shells and dressier button-downs, opting for a sky blue cotton shirt with pearl buttons.
Next, coffee, but there was no rush. She wouldn’t be among the DC beltway commuters this morning.
On the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, the answering machine splashed its blinking red light onto the wall—the same as it had last night when she came home. She turned her back to it and concentrated on getting the coffee maker working.
Soft strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March came from nearby. Beth jumped, startled, and coffee grounds scattered across the countertop. Stephen—she’d called him yesterday, but he’d asked all the wrong questions. She found her purse and dug the cell phone out of the side pocket.
“Hi.”
“Hello, beautiful. How are you? Better today?” His tone dropped. “You scared me, you know, not answering the phone. I was worried.”
“I didn’t feel like talking.” She sniffled and was embarrassed that she couldn’t help it.
“Remember, I’m the guy you’re going to marry.”
“I know. It’s just…”
“Beth, please let me help. Getting laid off is bad news and it’s tough for you now, but Haddin Technology gives generous severance packages. You’ve been there for almost ten years.”
She cringed. Stephen’s mind was always on money these days. His investments had tanked and she sympathized, but….
“I can’t talk about it now. I’ll call you later.”
Her finger hit the End button without consulting her good manners.
Beth clutched the phone. She could see him—almost as if he were right in front of her—his dark eyes, almost black, so concerned, so sincere.
He’d stopped asking her to take a loan against her 401K, but since yesterday it was severance, severance, severance. If he said that word one more time, she’d scream.
When the Wedding March began playing again, she stuffed the phone under the chair cushion. He didn’t understand. No one could.
But that wasn’t true. Maude always encouraged and supported her. Maude Henry, no relation and under no obligation, had rescued Beth and her brother, Daniel. She’d done her best to help them—two troubled children with no one to protect them. Years later, just before Beth left town, Maude had given her a book.
Beth stopped in front of the bookcase and ran her fingers along the spines of the books. There it was—Clarissa’s Folly. She slid it from its spot on the shelf.
The dust jacket was gaudy and melodramatic, an illustration of a young woman in a long, full-skirted dress standing in front of a gray stone house and clutching a red cape about her, against the wind. In the background, a man stood near the corner of the house watching her. Tall and slim, dressed in black, his face was shadowed below the brim of a tall hat.
The jacket branded it a gothic romance, decades out of fashion and a misfit among her other books. Almost an embarrassment. She’d considered discarding it many times, or, at least ripping off the dust jacket. Why hadn’t she? Because of Maude. She didn’t have the heart—or the lack of heart—to throw it away.
The inscription was the important part. She flipped open the cover to the words Maude had written on the title page in her disciplined and perfectly formed handwriting:
To Beth on her eighteenth birthday,
Make your own life. Don’t let it be made for you.
Love, your Maude
Beth appreciated the advice, but had always been bemused by the choice of book.
She whispered, “Maude, I did what you said and look where it’s gotten me.”
A photo stuck out from between the pages. She brushed the edge gently with her fingers, then pulled it out. Michael. Dark hair, blue eyes and a smile that set her tingling from head to toe. Back then, of course. Not now. Not in a long time. They’d been so young then. Only a decade ago? It seemed like another life. And beside him, Daniel, always looking so serious, but as mischievous as his ginger hair suggested.
She reached up and touched her own—more gold than red, but otherwise so much like her brother’s.
One page of the book was bent. Beth smoothed out the rumple and the text caught her attention.
The maidservant conducted her down the stairs and through the tall doorway of the dining room. Madam was already seated at the table to the right of a handsome, well-dressed dark-haired man. Clarissa’s breath caught in her throat. Quickly, she sought to regain her composure.
The footman drew a chair from the table, opposite Madam, and waited. Clarissa approached and with each step she was surer.
It was escapist, nonsense fiction. Nothing to do with real life.
Beth returned the book to the shelf and grabbed her old comfort sweater from the sofa. She slid her arms into the loose sleeves, then pulled the front together to hold the softness closer.
So, what next?
She’d like to see Maude.
There was no employer to notify and her neighbor, Celeste, could get the mail. Why not drive to Preston and visit her?
Beth pushed open the sliding door and stepped out onto her small balcony. She breathed deeply hoping fresh air would cool her brain.
The parking lot below was almost empty. The spring-freshened breeze lightly masked the mingled odors of asphalt and stale exhaust. Beyond the parking lot and a buffer of cedar trees, most of the Route 50 traffic headed north and east, away from Fairfax and toward the DC environs. The world—the employed part—was en route to work. Her car sat idle a few rows back with the morning dew still clinging to the windshield.
Only one person was in view, a man sitting in a shiny dark SUV. He was almost invisible behind its tinted windows. The side window was down and his large, muscled arm rested on the sill. The morning sun glinted on gold jewelry around his wrist and on his hand.
He was a stranger and she was glad. She didn’t want nosy neighbors speculating why workaholic-no-time-for-gossiping, all-business Beth was home at this hour on a work day.
The damp, metallic cold of the wrought iron railing reached through the nubby knit of her sleeves. Beth pressed her fingers to her face, to her throbbing temples. Her omissions were catching up with her. She’d never lied about her past, but she didn’t believe she owed anyone, including Stephen, her life story.
She’d told him her parents died when she was young and that a local woman had raised her. That had satisfied him. He liked being free of family ties and emotional baggage. They both did. Romance and hearts and flowers had never been a part of their relationship, but then again, neither had regret or remorse. Until now.
Yesterday’s shock had provided some kind of catharsis and opened her eyes. Their relationship—once so sparkly—had no more substance than a cheap trinket.
But breaking up? He wasn’t going to make it easy. All the more reason to disappear for a few days.
Beth went back inside and yanked the suitcase from the closet and opened it on the bed. She didn’t need to pack much. She wouldn’t be gone long—just long enough to hear Maude’s calm common sense advice. Her toiletries fit into specially-sized plastic bags and her clothing into packing cubes. Nice and neat. With a satisfied grunt, Beth closed the suitcase and carried it into the living room.
Beth pictured Maude, thin with perfect posture and iron-colored curls tight to her scalp—and with a wide smile when she opened the front door and saw Beth.
The blinking red message light caught her eye again. Time to take care of it. She flexed her fingers and punched the blinking red light.
“You have three messages. First message.” There was a brief pause, then, Stephen’s voice said, “Beth? You aren’t answering your cell. Are you there? Call me.”
Groan. She hit Erase.
“Second message.” This time it was a woman’s voice. Familiar. It caught her attention with the first words. “This message is for Beth Kincaid. This is Ida Langhorne calling from Mr. Monroe’s office. You might remember me?” There was a pause. “Well, I’m sorry to leave a message like this, but Miss Maude has passed. A few days ago.…”
Beth’s mind went blank. Mrs. Langhorne’s slow, southern lilt made ‘a few days ago’ sound like a question. The words hit her brain, but she couldn’t think. Mrs. Langhorne continued speaking. Beth slapped the Stop button.
…has passed. A few days ago…
Something tore in her heart. With a trembling hand, she pressed Play again.
“…he sent a letter, too, because we had trouble tracking you down. Your number’s unlisted. Anyway, we found your phone number in her address book today. We had a small funeral service yesterday—just the way she wanted. I’m real sorry, honey. When you get to town, stop by the office and we’ll give you Miss Maude’s papers. Bye, now.”
Only Maude had her contact information.
There was no love lost between Beth and the people she’d left behind in Preston ten years ago. In the years since, her trips to Preston had been brief and solely for the purpose of visiting Maude.
The red light continued to blink, waiting, insisting she listen to the third message. She pushed the button.
“Third message. Beth, this is Michael. Maude gave me your number awhile ago. You’ve probably heard by now, but I wanted to make sure you knew. It’s about Maude. She’s gone. If you’d like to talk, call me.” He left a phone number.
One person from Preston had called, after all. His voice touched her in a way that the old photo hadn’t. Her eyes hurt. She waited for the tears to start. Expected them. Wanted them. Her eyes burned, but no tears fell.
It was the effect of shock. Maude was gone. Employer was gone. Reality had suffered a sudden inversion.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. This apartment in Fairfax was her present. The small town of Preston was her past.
Look forward, Bethie, not back.
But sometimes the past returned to claim its share of the present.
She called Mr. Monroe’s office and left a message on his answering machine. “It’s Beth Kincaid. I’ll be in town this afternoon.”
She unplugged the coffee maker. She’d grab a cup on her way out of town. But she had to tell Stephen something. She couldn’t simply disappear.
Beth practiced excuses and explanations as she made two trips down the stairs taking her suitcase and other items to the car. She tossed her suitcase onto the back seat and put her laptop bag on the floorboard, then stood in the open driver’s side door drumming her fingers on the car roof. It wasn’t his fault that, more and more, being around him made her feel trapped. Or, maybe it was partly his fault, but it was totally her fault she hadn’t done anything about it.
She hit his number on the speed dial.
“Beth? I’m glad you called back. I was about to come over. I’m not angry that you hung up on me. I know you’re going through a lot of negative stuff right now.”
The morning damp hung over the asphalt. She slipped into the car and closed the door. She should tell him about the trip and why—as she should tell him the truth about being fired and about Maude’s death. Instead, she said, “I need time away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A few days. Alone.”
“Just like that? No discussion?”
A deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I get back. We’ll talk then.” She disconnected.
She backed out of the parking space, her foot powered by adrenalin, and almost ran over a man, probably the man she’d seen earlier in the SUV since no one else was around. Either she hadn’t noticed him crossing the nearly empty lot and or he’d moved quickly because, suddenly, he was there, his gray t-shirt filling her rearview mirror. He was unusually tall and, thankfully, nimble. She was glad not to add manslaughter to her sins.
Come hell or high water or from the frying pan into the fire—choose your cliché, pick your poison, Bethie—it all came down to the same thing. Next stop, Preston.
But running away was tougher than expected.
Stephen called before she reached Starbucks and again, as Beth settled back in the car with her coffee.
She parked away from the store, around the side out of the eyes of passersby. She took a deep, cleansing breath, then dialed. He answered before the first ring ended.
“I was about to call the police.”
Muted voices rose and fell in the background. Office noises.
“Why? I told you I needed a few days away.”
“Because I’m worried about you. Losing your job was a huge shock.”
She stopped mid-reach for her coffee. “I’ll be okay. I will. But that’s part of why I want to go away for a few days.”
“Fine. Understood. I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t be by yourself right now.”
“I’ll be fine.” She sniffled again and rummaged through her purse and glove compartment searching for a tissue.
“Talk to me, Beth. We’re engaged. That should mean something.”
Over the phone came the click of a door closing and the background voices ceased as he said, “Your voice sounds funny. Are you crying? No worries. You’ll find a new job.”
“I hope so. I have bills to pay.”
“You’ve still got your savings, and now you have the severance monies.” His voice took on a familiar, bitter edge. “I wouldn’t have suggested that investment to you, or anyone else, if I hadn’t believed in it. You were right not to trust me.”
He was tuning up to run through the story of his investment failure all over again. She couldn’t deal with this.
“It was never a question of trusting you. The market was too volatile. Outside of my comfort level.” Sunlight sparked off of the side of a black SUV as it drove slowly past. She shielded her eyes. “You aren’t a broker. They knew you weren’t licensed. It’s not like you took a percentage or a kickback.” There was a brief silence. “Or had inside information or anything.”
“Good intentions won’t matter if they go public about it. Unlucky investments blow up into big scandals now. My employer won’t want to be associated with it even if it has nothing to do with our marketing clients.”
“I understand.”
“And you’re tired of hearing about it.”
She should say ‘not at all,’ but it was the truth—she was sick of it. She tried to remember what had attracted her to him and came up empty. Beth took a deep breath and said, “I’m sitting in my car in a parking lot. It’s not a good place for a conversation.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll be there in minutes.”
“No.” She spoke as gently as she could, yet still sound firm. “I’ll talk to you when I get back. Please understand. Bye, Stephen.”
****
The train tracks divided Main Street, literally running between the north and southbound traffic lanes. Kersey’s Drug ‘n Dime looked shabby. On the corner of Hatter and Main, Lester’s Fine Furniture was now Lester’s Discount House and signs in the showroom windows promised ‘Deep Price Cuts.’
The disintegration had been in progress the last time she’d driven down Main Street, but change drove more change. Main Street’s vitality hovered somewhere between borderline commercial survival and going flat broke. At the end of Main, the tracks curved to the right and headed northeast around Mill Park.
Billy Monroe’s law office was around the corner on Woodlawn Avenue, facing the park. The sign on his door was flipped to “Closed for Lunch.” Beth parked and walked the short distance to the office door. Up close, it was easy to see the interior was dark and empty.
She turned back toward the car. Across the street was Mill Park, unchanged. The sweep of green grass beneath the tall, massive pines and the water beyond where ducks and geese reigned and dragonflies flitted, eased her heart. It always had even when things had been bad.
Powell’s Creek fed the lake. It had powered the grist mill more than a century earlier, but the mill was long closed. The town made an effort to keep the exterior of the three-story building in good repair, but the weathered structure was moving from picturesque to derelict. Westward, beyond the park and out of sight of the park and mill, houses backed up to the lake.
Beth got back into the car and drove along the two-lane road skirting the lake. She passed Maude’s church. Well, not Maude’s church, but that was how Beth always thought of it. Never Beth’s church after the first day she’d sat in the pew beside Maude. Two pews behind them several girls had giggled and whispered. The same smart and pretty girls Beth didn’t get along with in school. It was destined not to end well and her lack of fitting-in had grown exponentially with each service she attended.
Maude Henry’s house was on the outside edge of town on the western branch of the lake. Each morning, a beautiful sunrise bloomed over the unbroken expanse of water. An exquisite sunset burnished the water and set the distant mountains afire at day’s end.
The house and the old neighborhood were the same. Large and small homes were intermixed, but the lots were large and private due to the mature hedges and trees.
Beth climbed from the car and paused to shrug off her old sweater. She tossed it back into the car. With Maude gone, she’d expected the house to look empty—bereft—and it did, but the sky above was a deep blue and the smell of springtime green tickled her nose.
She sensed eyes upon her and looked up.
There was a large gap in the hedge and across the way, Mrs. Boyle stood on her porch staring in Beth’s direction. Martha Boyle, and most of the other citizens of Preston, refused to let her forget her teen years, her mistakes, her hot temper. For them, it was ‘like father, like daughter.’ Let Martha stare.
Past was past. Let it stay there.
The key fit smoothly into the lock and the door opened. The tiny vestibule was dark, but light streamed into the hallway ahead through the wide, framed opening into the living room.
Beth paused and listened. Silence. Only the dry, musty smell of old greeted her.
The living room was on the left with the dining room behind it. The threadbare hallway rug, the almost napless fabric of Maude’s Davenport, were unchanged. The tabletops wore a thin layer of dust. The tables were bare of their knick-knacks. She walked straight back to the kitchen. The fridge was empty. It had been cleaned and wiped, and a small, orange box of Arm n’ Hammer baking soda was inside to absorb odors.
Stepping out the back door–now that was like entering another world. Beth breathed in the sweet scents of yellow jasmine and fresh water. The yard had always been simple, but well-groomed, bordered by massive red-tipped Photinia hedges and crape myrtle trees–mature foliage hiding this slice of property from the rest of the world.
Now, the grass was shaggy. The planks on the weathered dock were warped and split. Overall, it didn’t inspire confidence. At the gazebo, a few loose corners of screening flapped in the breeze and the white paint was peeling.
But the gazebo still overlooked the lake, the dock was more solid than it appeared and the gentle slapping of wavelets at the rock barrier protecting the shoreline was the sound of eternity.
The physical sensations tied the moments of her life together in such an overwhelming way she nearly dropped to her knees, winded by the unexpectedness of it. She fought it off. There were good memories, true, but they weren’t worth remembering if it meant reliving the painful ones.
A boy burst through the hedge. He skidded to a stop when he saw Beth.
“Hi,” she said.
He stuck his fingers in his belt loops and hitched up his jeans. “Do you live here now?”
“I used to. I just got back.”
“Do you have a kid? There’s not many around here.”
He looked so serious Beth almost laughed. She wanted to thank him for tearing her away from bad memories, but he wouldn’t understand.
“No kids, sorry. Do you live nearby?”
“My grandma lives there.” He pointed toward the Boyle’s blue-shingled house. “Am I in trouble?”
“Trouble? Why?”
“Because I’m in your yard.” He shifted from sneaker to sneaker, postured forward on the balls of his feet, gearing up to move.
“Run through anytime you like.”
Mrs. Boyle yelled from beyond the hedge. “James! Where are you?”
The boy grinned at Beth and disappeared into the next set of hedges on the far side.
That moment he grinned–he was probably about nine or ten–reminded her of Daniel. Her heart gave a twinge. No wonder she’d thought of him, her big brother, out here by the lake with the past feeling close enough to touch. And Michael, too.
This time, her heart gave a nervous thud.
No problem. If she wrapped up her business quickly, she could avoid Michael.
Back inside, Beth opened a kitchen window and then others in the living room and dining room. Some were painted shut, others were warped, but a few opened wide enough to allow in fresh air, still cool. Thank goodness it was April and not July.
She heard footsteps on the porch and then the doorbell broke the silence.
Mrs. Boyle held a bowl of cat food in one hand, with a large orange cat secured between her body and the crook of her other arm. The cat hung there, legs stuck out, eyes staring.
Martha Boyle thrust the bowl toward her and Beth took it in reflex. She did the same with the cat, nearly assaulting Beth with its massive, furry body.
“It’s Maude’s. I took care of it while things were getting sorted out. Now you’re here, so it’s sorted and it’s yours.”
Beth’s mouth hung open. The cat twitched and settled the sharp nails of one hind foot against her arm, tensing in warning. “What—?”
“There’s litter in the pantry and the box is out on the back stoop.”
“Is this—? I thought....” Beth stumbled over the words.
“I don’t know anything about it except its name. Teddy.” She turned and walked away, her hand on the stair rail and her attention concentrated on the porch steps. Martha’s only ‘goodbye’ was the view of her stooped back.
Teddy squirmed vigorously. Beth let him fall. He hit the floor with a soft thud and dashed up the stairs as if he knew exactly where he was going. Which he did, of course.
Beth stood at the base of the stairs, staring at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight as it streamed through the windows on the landing. Should she follow him up? No, she’d fix the litter box first.
This was way beyond unexpected. The last time she’d visited, Maude had been looking for a home for a stray kitten. Apparently, she’d found one. Here.
Maude’s cat.
Her cat now.
Beth went upstairs. She had to find Teddy a new home.
The large cat was curled up on Maude’s bed. He lifted his head and eyeballed her. His tail swished as if slicing the air.
“Fine. Stay there.”
The furnishings upstairs seemed lean. Beth flipped a light switch on and off and opened the water tap. Power and water. All she needed for a few days.
Personal items—only a small bottle of White Shoulders, a silver-backed hairbrush and a ring holder—sat on a doily on Maude’s dresser. Beth recognized the few dresses hanging in the closet and knew there used to be more.
Her own room was at the front of the house. It, too, looked stripped down.
****
Beth made a quick trip to the grocery store, both for herself and for Teddy. She was putting the food away when movement out by the gazebo caught her eye. Through the window and beyond the tattered gazebo screening, she saw a man on the far side of the structure, standing near the water.
She stared. Her breath quickened. She reached up and smoothed her hair back.
She didn’t know Maude’s neighbors anymore, except Martha Boyle, of course. She couldn’t tell a neighbor out for a morning jog from a stranger trespassing. Yet, as the man moved along the lakeside, Beth recognized him immediately by his walk, his posture, and other attributes she couldn’t name, but to which her heart and body responded instinctively.
Michael.
Chapter Two
All thoughts of avoiding Michael vanished as if they’d never passed through her brain. The slamming of the storm door behind her was no more than a faint echo of her lost resolve as she crossed the lawn to where he stood down by the lake.
Beth didn’t know Michael, the adult, but she’d known him well as a child and a teenager. She wanted to reach out and touch him, surprised by the surge of strong emotion washing over her, but his eyes were hard as he watched her approach and his hands stayed in his pockets. His coolness killed her impulsive rush to greet him.
His dark hair was longish around his ears and neck, but neatly groomed. A soft blue shirt matched the color of his eyes. His jeans were neat and his shoes were polished. His style said casual and comfortable, but not careless and not by chance.
“I’d recognize you anywhere,” she said.
“Beth. It’s been how long? Ten years? Twelve?”
“About that, I guess. Thanks for calling me.”
He shrugged. “No problem. I was out of town when Maude died. She was getting weak, but she’d been around forever. Hard to imagine her gone.” He looked at the house, the sweep of the lawn and out at the lake. “I didn’t realize you were already here.”
“I drove up as soon as I got the messages this morning. Mrs. Langhorne said they had a small graveside service. I wish I’d known in time to be here.”
He frowned. His voice was harsh. “How would that happen? Did you stay in touch with anyone except Maude? If I hadn’t seen her recently I wouldn’t have had your number. You didn’t leave a lot of friends behind when you left.”
Her face heated up. “Well, I guess you get points for honesty.” She turned to go, saying, “Good to see you, Michael.” It never failed, did it? Expectations could always be counted on to slingshot right back in your face.
“Sorry.” He reached out and brushed her arm. “I didn’t come to criticize.”
She gave him back silence and a stony look.
“I’d like to start over,” he said.
Beth bit her tongue. Anger struggled to vent as if returning here had thrown her back into old habits—back into being that touchy, hot-tempered person she hadn’t liked very much. She crossed her arms and stared at the ground.
“Welcome back to Preston, Beth. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Starting over? Is that what he wanted? She eased her tightly clasped arms apart, but then didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled them on her hips.
Michael leaned forward, touched her arm, then eased her left hand toward him and turned it over. “I see an engagement ring.”
“Yes.” She pulled her hand back and sidestepped the full truth by shifting the conversation to him. “How about you? Are you married?”
Michael had been her brother’s friend and both were older than she. She’d idolized them and they treated her like a nuisance–except for a few sweet moments during the summer when she was fifteen and Michael was eighteen–moments offering more promise than they ever delivered.
He grimaced. “I was engaged a few times, but none of them lasted long enough for a wedding to happen.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not complaining. Even my would-be brides were happy to call it off.”
What could she say to that? “Maybe you’re destined to be single—an old bachelor.”
Michael smiled. “Could be. I’m making a pretty good effort at it.”
Warmer feelings filled the space between them and she was glad. She’d blamed him fifteen years ago when Daniel died. Or rather, she blamed Michael for surviving when her brother hadn’t. It hadn’t been fair to him, but grief knows no logic. And, in the end, he’d let her down, too. All ancient history.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I have an appointment.”
As they walked up the path together, he stopped and looked at her. “How long will you stay? Will you stay?”
“Stay here? My life is in Fairfax. I can’t manage a house here while living there. Why would I want to?”
“Maybe keep it as a weekend property? It’s on the lake.”
“I don’t see it working for me. I’ll sell.”
Michael nodded. “You want to get back to your fiancé and your job. Maude said you were working as a project manager at a computer company?”
She deflated suddenly. “A technology firm.”
“What about your father?”
Beth tensed. “What about him?”
“Joe’s living in the area.”
“I’ll be done with my business and out of town before he knows I’m here.” She hugged her arms again.
He started to speak, then stopped. Instead, he asked, “Do you have a real estate agent?”
“Not yet.”
“Ann Mallory knows this area better than anyone.”
“Thanks.”
“Happy to help.” He walked around the side of the house and disappeared.
Goodbye, Michael. Again.
Actually, he looked good. She’d forgotten how deeply blue his eyes were. Beth walked back up the steps and into the house and heard the doorbell ringing. She hurried down the hallway and opened the door expecting to see Michael again.
Mr. Monroe stood on the porch. His dusty sedan was parked in the driveway. He was every bit of eighty-five with curly white eyebrows and sagging jowls—an expatriate from a Normal Rockwell painting. He hugged a large folder with one arm and a cane was hooked over his wrist. His eyelids looked heavy, but Beth didn’t doubt his vision was as sharp as ever.
“Hello.” She stepped out to the porch. “I guess you got my message?”
“I did. I have Ms. Henry’s papers for you. Deed, receipts, and such. You’ll want to keep them secure. Look through them. If you have any questions, call or stop by the office.” He handed her a dark brown accordion folder about an inch thick, but lumpy. “There’s an extra set of house keys and car keys in there.”
“Thanks.”
“As I wrote in my letter, Miss Maude left a small amount of money in the local bank. She directed me to cash that out at her death to fulfill bequests to the library, church and the Ladies’ Auxiliary. I’ve done that. Her share of the house and lot, along with the contents, were bequeathed to you. The utilities will remain on until the end of the month. If you’ll be here beyond that, please have the accounts changed to your name.”
“Thanks for bringing these papers over. You sent a letter? I didn’t receive it before I left.” She hugged the folder. “Mr. Monroe, Maude used to have a lovely set of white wicker furniture on the porch. Do you know what happened to it?”
“A few months past, hoodlums tossed Miss Maude’s rattan furniture into the lake.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It’s what those rascals do. After a night of floating in the lake, it was a mess. Some of it followed the current and snagged on the Hilliard’s dock.” Mr. Monroe shook his head. “It was unsightly, but still usable, so she gave it away.”
“Did the police find out who did it?”
“Miss Maude made a report, but that was all. She’d grown frail and didn’t want trouble.”
“Why didn’t you call me when Maude got sick? Or did she get sick? I don’t even know how she died.”
“She just died. Of old age. She was alone. When you reach a certain age, you’ve outlived most of your friends, and enemies, too. She passed during the night. Martha Boyle came over to pick her up…going to the store, I believe, and when she didn’t answer the door, Mrs. Boyle let herself in.”
“I see.”
“I believe Mrs. Langhorne told you we didn’t have a current phone number or address for you, else we would have called sooner. Miss Maude had already made the funeral arrangements, so we proceeded with the service and the interment per her wishes.”
She tried to keep her focus squarely on Mr. Monroe. Emotionalism would help no one.
He asked, “Will you be speaking with your father while you’re in town?”
Her lips went numb. She bit down on them.
“Consider doing so, Miss Kincaid.” His faded eyes held hers for a long moment. He coughed lightly.
Beth stared back, but refused to ask the obvious–why should Mr. Monroe care about Joe Kincaid? Her relationship with her father was none of his business. Except in a small town, everybody’s business was everybody else’s.
He nodded and walked to his car.
From her vantage point on the porch, she could see several houses along the road and the hedges and landscaping, but not a soul was in sight. She waved as Mr. Monroe drove away.
In the kitchen, Beth unwound the elastic string securing the brown envelope and slid the papers onto the table. The title to which Maude had added her name five years before was on top. Next were documents pertaining to Maude’s guardianship. Daniel’s death certificate. Her mother’s, too.
Enough for now. Carefully, Beth slid the documents back into the envelope.
She went upstairs and unpacked her suitcase and put the toiletries in the bathroom. When everything was neatly squared in the drawer or lined up on the vanity she made a sandwich for supper.
In the late afternoon, the light wind stilled and the air grew stuffy inside the house. Beth walked out the back door and down the brick path. She passed the gazebo and stood at the lake’s edge. The last light of day was soft and the lake breeze was sweet.
A short distance southeast of Maude Henry’s shoreline a small point jutted out into the lake so that the boat dock on the point tended to catch whatever got caught in the current, including Maude’s wicker furniture.
There was no comfort in memories, not for her. Sentimentality was over-rated—of no more use in a rational, real-life present than fairy tales, fantasy, or old romance novels.
A star popped out in the dimming sky. More would soon follow. Beth turned away and walked back to the house. Her car was parked in the driveway so she turned on all of the outside lights. No night-roving juveniles would mistake this for a vacant house.
Teddy was curled into a tight, furry ball on Maude’s pillow. Beth didn’t disturb him.
In her old room, she sat in the dark at the open window with the cool touch of the breeze on her face listening to the night sounds. She welcomed emotional exhaustion because it left no room for anything else.
Wood creaked in the hallway. A metallic sound came from somewhere in the house.
This was the first time she’d ever slept alone here.
Lots of firsts had happened within the past forty-eight hours, including Michael’s return to her life. Thinking of him pushed the old house groans out of her mind, but brought no peace.
Ten years since she’d moved away from Preston. Twelve years since she’d seen Michael.
Twelve years older should mean twelve years smarter. Should.
****
In the morning, something glittered in the long grass near the gazebo. Beth went outside and found a wine-cooler bottle.
She opened the door to the gazebo. Inside, discarded cans, bottles and squashed cigarette butts littered the floor. This close, the scent of jasmine and the cleansing lake breeze couldn’t conceal the stink.
The debris seemed relatively fresh. As Maude had gotten weaker, human rodents had moved in and abused her property.
Her pulse quickened and rose to a low, dull roar in her ears.
Calm down, Bethie. It’s disgusting, but it can be cleaned up.
Beth dragged one of the large, metal garbage cans from behind Maude’s garage and found an old broom. She swept the floor free of the litter.
The gazebo needed a bit of screen tacking, a good sanding and painting, and it would look fabulous framed by the jasmine, the Photinia, and the blue of the sky and the lake. It might make a difference in a tight market.
****
The afternoon was nearly done and when she returned from the bank, the evening stretched ahead of her, quiet and lonely. She searched for Teddy and found him underneath Maude’s bed. Hard to miss those orange eyes burning in the dark below.
Suit yourself, Teddy.
Her trip to the bank had been successful. They required an account in order to rent a safety deposit box. She’d close the checking account on her way out of town. In the meantime, the papers were secure. Beth tossed the starter checks into a kitchen drawer.
She was about to put a frozen dinner in the microwave when the phone rang.
“Beth? It’s Michael.”
Michael?
“Hi. What can I do for you?”
“Thought I’d drop by with some takeout. Preston has a good Chinese restaurant. Opened about six months ago.”
“I appreciate the offer, but...” Beth stalled, not sure whether she wanted to make nice with him or not.
“Have you eaten?”
“No, I was about to cook something.”
“Well, don’t. I’ll be over in about thirty minutes.”
Beth tossed the defrosting cardboard box back into the freezer and pulled some plates out of the cabinet.
****
“I owe you an apology. You’re hardly back in town and there I was, telling you what to do and criticizing. I know you don’t have good feelings about Preston, and I can’t blame you, but you shouldn’t judge a whole town by one man’s failings.” Michael moved the food containers from the carryout bag to the table.
Beth sat down opposite him. “I don’t. I have more than one reason. As for Joe, I don’t want to talk about him.”
“He’s your father.”
“No, he’s the man who killed my mother.” It cost her to say it bold like that, but pretending was a waste of time.
“That’s harsh, Beth.”
“Truth can be harsh. The way my mother died was harsh. The accident was only one of the crimes he committed. If not for him, Daniel wouldn’t...he wouldn’t have made bad choices.”
“Daniel and I were teenagers. We did a lot of stupid, dangerous things. It wasn’t the first time he drove when he shouldn’t have.” Michael cracked open a fortune cookie. “I can see you’re angry. This is still painful for you.”
The words he’d left unsaid were hanging in the air between them—still painful after all these years. But some things couldn’t be gotten over easily and he didn’t have the right to tell her otherwise. She busied herself with scraping the last grains of rice from the thin, white container.
“Why did you come here tonight?”
“You have to eat, don’t you?” He smiled and gently took the empty container from her to add to the bag of trash.
Beth stabbed a chunk of chicken with her fork. “What’s the real reason?”
“You were always the little kid tagging along. The brat. Daniel and I were pretty tough on you. Seeing you again reminded me.” Michael sipped his iced tea. “I visited Maude from time to time. She was proud of you.”
Not exactly what she’d expected him to say. Was he baiting her?
“Maude understood why I couldn’t stay around Preston.”
Michael nodded. “You were the closest thing she had to family. She missed you, but she admired your independence. Maude was proud you’d put yourself through college—while working and supporting yourself—and had a good job.”
Beth relaxed. “Maude disrupted her life for a couple of kids she hardly knew. I owe her…everything.”
“It was quite a sensation at the time.” Michael spoke softly.
“The town’s sensation was our real-life nightmare.” Maude had driven out to the Kincaid place where the two children waited for their parents to come home. Mom and Dad were overdue. If one could smell change in the air, especially bad change, they did that day.
Beth said, “The day Maude came out to the old place, she told us, ‘come with me,’ and Daniel asked her, ‘Why should we go anywhere with you?’ Maude said, ‘Because there was an accident. Your mother’s dead and your father won’t be back for a long time. The sheriff is coming and he’ll take you to the County. Best come with me.’”
Michael grimaced, but kept his voice even, “That was a hard way to hear the news.”
“Maude was always direct. You always knew exactly where you stood with her. Plain-spoken. She could be kind, but sappy sympathy wasn’t her thing.”
“Why was she so determined to get the two of you into her care?”
“Maude was at the volunteer fire department that day with the Ladies’ Auxiliary when the call came in about the crash. She’d known our mother and her parents, and wanted to do what she could for us. Not being blood related, Maude figured it was best to take us home and work out the legalities later. We went with her. To avoid the county home, I guess, and because we didn’t have anyone else. Between them, Maude and Billy Monroe, they pulled it off and the judge let us stay.”
“Never worked with Daniel.”
Beth pushed her plate away. “No, it didn’t. Would you like more tea? Or soda?”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
“Daniel was a month short of thirteen. Already wild. He spent a lot of time out at the old house, especially after Joe was released from jail.” Beth gathered the rest of the dinner trash and Michael held the bag open. “Boys. Teenage boys, especially. In trouble or making trouble without even trying.”
She continued, “I think some kids have been hanging out in Maude’s gazebo. Likely the same ones who stole her wicker furniture and tossed it in the lake.”
“I didn’t know. Sorry to hear Maude had trouble.”
“I want to put my car in the garage, but her old car won’t start.”
“You mean that little Ford?”
“The Escort? No, she sold that several years ago when she gave up driving. I mean her dad’s old car.”
“The Buick? That thing’s built like a tank.” Michael sat back in the chair. “One of the guys on the farm is good with cars, trucks—anything with an engine. I can have him check it out.”
Michael’s smile was slightly crooked, one side higher than the other, as if he knew a secret, or so it had always seemed to Beth. She was pleased to see a hint of the boy he’d been, only a little disguised by maturity.
“If the Buick needs much work, I’ll sell it for parts. It would be good to have someone I can trust figure it out for me.”
“I’ll bring him by tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Great. Thanks. And thanks for recommending Ann Mallory. We’ve got an appointment scheduled.” Michael was coming back tomorrow and idiot that she was, she was happy. She tucked her fingers beneath her thighs to keep them from touching his face, his shoulder.
“Ann’ll do a good job for you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He left soon after. Beth returned to the kitchen to finish the cleanup and found a thin slip of white paper lying in the middle of the table.
From his fortune cookie.
She picked it up and read it aloud. “Anger begins with folly and ends with regret.”
Humph. Did he leave it on purpose? As a message and a dig? She drummed her fingernails on the tabletop.
Her own cookie was still wrapped in cellophane. She picked it up and tore it open.
“Something you lost will soon turn up.”
She laughed, tried to stop, then laughed some more. An emotional pressure valve had nudged open and some of the tension around her had eased. She shoved the slips of paper into her pocket.
Despite her original plan to avoid Michael, she was unexpectedly glad to see him. It was ironic. Because he offered help, she might wrap this up all the quicker and leave. She tried to be honest with herself—some of that old attraction still simmered deep inside. But she could handle it and it was all the more reason to welcome Michael’s assistance because the sooner she returned to Fairfax the sooner she could get back to rebuilding her real life.
****
Beth was worried about Teddy. He’d barely nibbled at his food. She stood in the doorway of Maude’s bedroom peering into the near dark. No cat lay on the bed.
She went into the room and flipped up the bed skirt. Swiftly, before Teddy could evade her, she grabbed the first body part she touched. He resisted, but Beth gripped harder and pulled him from beneath the bed. His furry body slid along the bare wood.
“Enough moping,” Beth said as she snatched him up into her arms. He squirmed, but she held him securely with an arm around his mid-section while she closed the bedroom door. When Beth tried to drop him to the hallway floor, she discovered he’d attached himself to her clothing with his claws.
“Teddy, hold still.” Paw by paw, claw by claw, she disengaged him. Her blouse suffered a few pulled threads. Teddy didn’t care. He met her eye for eye and meowed loudly showing sharp white teeth.
“I’m not who you want to see? Too bad. You’re stuck with me. At least, until I find you a new home.”
Teddy howled again and got in one good scratch before Beth released him. He hit the floor lightly on all four padded feet. He darted a few feet away, eyed her with hostility and twitched his tail.
The scratch on her arm had already turned bright pink. Beth rubbed the raised, stinging welt and glared at Teddy. “You might be tough, but watch out. I can handle my feelings for Michael and I can handle the likes of you.”
Unimpressed, Teddy padded off down the hallway.
Chapter Three
Michael Fowler stood in the open doorway of the farm office watching Joe scrape red mud from the soles of his scuffed work boots. The blue pickup, dented and scratched, but as dependable as ever, was parked a few yards away. Its tire treads, too, were packed with red clay. The familiar rich smell of earth and manure was cut by the aroma of fresh coffee. Joe had already been out to check the cattle and now sat on the weathered porch steps, hunched over, engrossed in cleaning his shoes. A mug of hot coffee was steaming near at hand. It was early yet and the dew still clung to the thick grass of the pastures, sparkling like fine crystals in the early morning sun.
Michael had a dilemma.
He’d called Beth about Maude’s death because it was the right thing to do. He hadn’t expected her to rush to Preston and he hadn’t expected to run into her at Maude’s yesterday morning, but it had worked out okay.
In fact, it was good to see her.
Twelve years, ten months—that’s how long since they’d spoken to each other. Of course, he remembered.
He’d left for Des Moines less than a month after Daniel’s funeral. His parents sent him to his aunt and uncle because they wanted to keep him out of more trouble. He stayed there for his senior year and after that, it was college. His parents even paid for a summer in Europe after his freshman year. By the time he returned to Preston for more than a short holiday, Beth was gone.
He could’ve called her back then—they had phones in Iowa—but... Well, it didn’t matter now. It was long ago.
Beth wasn’t staying. She’d been clear about wanting to sell and leave Preston as soon as possible. Probably for the best.
So, what was the problem? Beth didn’t want Maude’s property and he did.
Perfect, right? Maybe. His gut told him to step carefully. Some people were exactly as they seemed on the surface. Not Beth. He’d figured that out quick. She might look different, grownup, but her temper hadn’t cooled any.
Holdups were expected in any project. Generally, his timing was good and luck usually hung out nearby willing to lend a helping hand. He’d been flipping houses in Roanoke when the real estate market died. Even then, luck had been with him because he’d only been caught with one house unsold. He finished the renovation, found a renter, and came away financially unscathed. But it made him cautious. He was almost relieved when Maude Henry told him she wouldn’t sell her property to him. Wouldn’t, she’d said, but couldn’t even if she wanted to because Beth was part owner. Michael hadn’t known that. No one had, except maybe Mr. Monroe, as Maude’s attorney, and Billy Monroe knew how to keep private business private.
Maude had offered him Beth’s phone number. He’d stuck the square of paper under a magnet on the fridge.
Seeing Beth stride across the yard to meet him at the lake side had given him a jolt. She’d been a teenager the last time he’d seen her. The scrawny kid had filled out. Back then, her hair was what everyone noticed if they could get past her temper. Or maybe it was because of her temper. Redheads were assumed to be hot-tempered, right?
One thing was true, for sure—shared childhood memories weren’t always sweet.
Beth had held a grudge against him after Daniel died, but she’d been a kid with a lot on her plate. He hoped taking supper to her had gone a long way to smoothing things over, but if Beth knew who sat a few feet away from him now, sipping coffee and scraping red mud from the bottom of his work boots with a stick, she’d refuse any offer outright. In fact, the door she’d slam in his face would probably rattle the Richter scale and he couldn’t blame her.
Considered objectively—for instance, as if they’d met for the first time yesterday—she was gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Hard to trust a woman that beautiful. But sharing a meal or two wouldn’t require trust.
He hung a thumb in his belt and savored a long sip of coffee.
Just as well she was engaged.
Mix that hair, those dark eyes and perfect lips with her temper and their history and you got more trouble than he was willing to take on.
He owed her something, though. Not officially or anything. That last, brief meeting at the cemetery more than twelve years ago hadn’t been good for anyone.
Maybe he owed her for old times’ sake.
Joe looked up, “Boss?”
“Doing okay?”
He grunted and nodded. “Good.”
Michael could see Joe was waiting, expecting him to say something more, but he didn’t know where to go with it. In the years Michael had known Joe Kincaid, at least since Michael had been an adult, Joe always seemed tightly held within himself, but he was a good worker. Not exactly happy in his work—he always looked wrinkled and grim, but never complained. He worked. He ate. He slept. Not much else. Michael suspected he didn’t trust himself enough to relax and have fun.
They’d released Joe from jail eighteen months after the accident that killed his wife. Joe had fallen off the wagon a few times since he’d come to work for Michael’s dad, but not in recent years.
He settled for asking, “How’s that fencing going?”
“Started the section down by the creek. It’s soft there. Needs to dry out.” Joe scratched the peppery gray unshaved stubble on his face.
Michael leaned against the door lintel and crossed one booted foot with the other as he chewed on some thoughts. For old time’s sake, and in memory of his friend Daniel, Michael owed Beth what help he could give her. And Joe, too. He pushed away from the door frame and stepped out onto the porch.
“Joe, could you fix up the old shed in the north field? We could use secure storage out there.”
Joe nodded without looking around. “Can do, boss.”
“Take a few days, you think?”
“Probably.”
And that, Michael hoped, would keep Joe out of town and out of Beth’s way until he figured out what to do—what was best for everyone.
Chapter Four
Ann Mallory had big blonde hair sprayed to hold its shape. She swept into the house already talking.
“I’ve got the county records right here. Lot size. Tax assessment for lot and structures. A few comps of recent sales—well, relatively recent sales. I already looked around outside. Now, I’d like to take a closer look inside the house. After, we’ll sit down and talk about numbers and reality. Sound good?”
Ann led the tour.
“Actually, you’ve got an interesting house here. You know how it goes? Everything old is new again? Well, these mail order houses are back in vogue. Restoration and all that.”
“Mail order houses?”
“This house. Bought out of a Sears Catalog. Not surprised you don’t know. Ms. Henry’s house, with one quiet-living maiden lady all alone–we can call it mint condition.