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A Doctor for Keeps
Lynne Marshall
Her lifelong search for home…Desdemona Rask never knew much about her family. Now she is finally getting a chance to learn about her roots in the town of Heartlandia. For the first time, Desi feels as if there's somewhere she belongs…but there's more to her welcome home than she expected! Her grandmother's next-door neighbor looks like a Viking warrior, and he's giving Desi all sorts of unwelcome feelings….…might be closer than she thinks!Caring for his son, Steven, is single dad Dr. Kent Larson's first priority. But the boy's stunning new piano teacher makes him take a second look at his to-do list. Still, he's lost at love before–how could he risk another heart-battering? Does the doctor dare to go all in?


Careful, Larson, don’t let her beauty mess with your head.
How many times today had he admired her light bronze complexion, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and those rich dark eyes? Not to mention the lush lips begging to be—He shook his head. Think straight. She lives hand to mouth, picks up jobs here and there, doesn’t stick with any particular thing for long. She’s spent her life traveling the country, never settling down. She’s just passing through.
His fists opened and closed as he did battle with the two strongest organs in his body. His brain knew without a doubt she’d break Steven’s heart. More than anything Kent wanted to protect his son, but he knew life had a way of playing out in the least expected ways. Why deprive the kid of the dazzling Ms Desi?
Why deprive himself?
Dear Reader (#u3e27389b-2b60-5d9b-a250-5309818e7c90),
Welcome to Heartlandia, the little town with a big secret.
Sometimes a story comes to mind that challenges the heart and soul of the author. A biracial daughter of a Scandinavian mother and African-American father, Desdemona Rask grew up solely with her mother on the road in the Midwest. Deep in her heart Desi longs to find her family and her roots. After her mother dies she heads to her Scandinavian grandmother’s house in the town from which her mother ran away. A whole new world opens up to Desi in Heartlandia, which is nestled along the Oregon coast by the Columbia River. There, a precocious eight-year-old named Steven becomes her first piano student. Next she meets his father, the striking doctor next door, and that’s when the fireworks begin.
Being a single father of a super-active son, and running the local urgent care clinic, Kent Larson hardly has time to breathe, let alone fall in love. When the exotically lovely daughter of his childhood babysitter arrives in town, new life gets infused into Kent’s heart. But how can he trust his heart again when his wife walked out on him and their son without so much as a glance over her shoulder? How wise is it to fall for a woman who has just set foot in town and is already searching for a way out through her family tree?
The heart is a funny organ that rarely listens to reason and logic. Thank goodness! Otherwise Desi and Kent would never have found their happily ever after.
I love to hear from readers. Friend me on Facebook or check out my website, www.lynnemarshall.com (http://www.lynnemarshall.com).
Wishing you love and happy reading!
Lynne
A Doctor for Keeps
Lynne Marshall


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry that she had a serious problem with daydreaming—then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories! A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories that always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, a dog lover, a cat admirer, a power walker and an avid reader.
Sincerest thanks to Tara Gavin for giving me the opportunity to write this book and series.
Special thanks to my friend Sylvie Fox for her input in a key scene.
As always, thanks to my steady-as-a-rock critique partner, Dee J. Adams.
Contents
Cover (#uf86e692f-9a26-5710-9113-51fe6d38751c)
Introduction (#ub21d9f86-a184-5279-8392-6daffd99e19b)
Dear Reader (#u67382ede-fa93-50a8-aaa1-81a919ce1efe)
Title Page (#ud2f5ffce-1597-507b-ad49-fa7c2e356942)
About the Author (#ud4518208-3d39-5d6c-9bf0-9b65ee750deb)
Dedication (#ud252d721-64a3-5fc7-a9ef-a7f1a238533a)
Chapter One (#ulink_c03f25de-b0c7-5030-97f6-1922461ff603)
Chapter Two (#ulink_270434d7-caaf-53e1-833b-f694b3e8fbc0)
Chapter Three (#ulink_1f6cddce-19cf-57eb-a250-f7fb7f377e83)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_530df9e9-c5a8-5950-a14a-b8f4dc39603d)
Desi wished she had a flashlight as she crept around the side of the ancient house in the dark. A thorn from an equally old and gnarly bush snagged her T-shirt, puncturing her skin.
“Ouch!” She immediately regretted her outburst since it was almost midnight. Where did Gerda say that painted rock is?
Her grandmother, a woman Desi had met only a few times in her twenty-eight years, had earlier instructed over the phone where the extra house key was hidden. Determined not to wake up Grandma Gerda, she tramped through the overgrown grass and shrubbery along the side of the house, searching for the mark.
Success! A brightly patterned rock nestled against the wooden gate stood out under the moonlight like fluorescent paint under black light. As she’d been told, she searched along the bottom for the small stick-on box holding the house key, hoping there weren’t any nighttime creepy crawlers around. Just as she retrieved the box and opened it, the assaulting aroma of night-blooming jasmine tickled her nose. Sneezing with gusto, she dropped the key and got on her hands and knees to search for it, grateful there was a full moon.
A few seconds later, with key in hand, she emerged out of the thick overgrowth between two houses, heading for the huge wraparound porch belonging to her maternal grandmother. But not before tripping on a brick along the walkway. She lurched forward, swatting at the night for nonexistent support and letting fly a few choice words.
A bright light blinded her just as she stopped teetering and regained her balance.
“Who’s there?” A distinctly deep and masculine voice came from the vicinity of the light.
She shielded her eyes with her forearms. “I’m Mrs. Rask’s granddaughter. Who’re you?”
The light lowered, allowing Desi to see a huge shadow, making her wish she’d kept up those kickboxing classes...just in case.
“I’m Kent, Gerda’s next-door neighbor.” The man stepped closer, studying her, as though he didn’t believe her story. “I’ve never heard about a granddaughter.”
Why would she expect otherwise? Wasn’t she supposed to be the secret granddaughter? Especially since a Scandinavian stronghold like Heartlandia along the Columbia River in Oregon probably wasn’t used to people like her.
“Are you saying you’re Ester’s daughter?” His voice, a moment ago deep and intriguing, had jumped an octave higher. He must have known who her mother was...or had been.
“Yes. Could you please turn off that light and not talk so loud? I don’t want to wake my grandmother. I had no idea how long the drive from Portland to Heartlandia would be.” On a whim, and for future reference, she’d taken a detour through the big city just to see it, suspecting her father might still live there. Determined not to spend extra money for a motel, she’d made a decision to drive straight through tonight. “Took me two and a half hours. And what’s Oregon got against streetlights, anyway?” she said in a raspy whisper. “Thought I’d driven into a black hole on Highway 30 for a while there.” She fussed with the leaves that had stuck to her shirt and her hair, and brushed off the dirt from her hands, then reached out. “I’m Desi Rask, by the way.”
Stepping closer, with her eyes having adjusted to the dark again, she realized how tall the man was. At five foot nine it was hard to find many men to look up to. He had to be at least six foot three. And blond. As in Nordic-god blond. “Kent Larson.” He accepted her hand and shook it; hers felt incredibly petite inside his grasp. “Your mother used to babysit me before—”
He stopped without completing the sentence. Before she ran away from home. Yeah, Desi knew the story. Her mother, the piano-bar queen of the Midwest, had finally cleared up most of the missing pieces before she’d passed.
“Desdemona? Is that you?” a reedy voice called out. “Kent?”
Succeeding at doing what she’d hoped to avoid—waking up her grandmother—Desi turned toward the porch to face her for the first time since her mother’s last days in the hospital.
“It’s me. Your greeting committee from next door decided to interrogate me before I could let myself in.”
“That’s not it,” Kent the Viking said. “With Mrs. Rask being the mayor, I look out for her is all.”
She’d seen the doubt on his face and the hesitation to swallow her story when she’d told him who she was. But being half-black, why should she expect otherwise when she didn’t look anything like the Norseman or her equally pale grandmother, the mayor of Heartlandia?
* * *
Kent worked quickly to put two and two together. Ester Rask had been a teenager when she’d run away from home. Being only eight at the time, the same age as his son Steven now, he’d never heard the whole story. He remembered the town searching high and low for Ester without success. He also remembered that Ester had never been declared dead, just missing, and eventually, his parents had quit talking about her disappearance altogether and he’d had a new babysitter. That had to be twenty-eight years ago. Hard to believe.
Now, having run into Desdemona in the dark of night, he understood why Ester had run away—she must have been pregnant.
Gerda flipped on the porch light, and Kent got his first good look at the dark and enchanting one named Desdemona. Or Desi, as she’d introduced herself. Tall, sturdy in build, coffee-with-cream-colored skin with an extra dollop of milk, wide-set rich brown eyes, a smoothed out variation on the pointy Rask family nose, full lips and straight teeth. It had been a long time since he’d seen such an exotically beautiful woman in person and it threw him off-balance.
She wore a bright yellow top that hung off one shoulder, with the straps of a black tank top playing peekaboo from beneath. The midnight-blue jeans fit like second skin, and black flats countered her height. Wow, her outfit didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, and right now his was running wild. Loads of thick dark hair danced around her shoulders, long and full-bodied like how he’d remembered Ester’s, except Ester’s hair had been blond, nearly white-blond. Kent’s hands grew suddenly restless, his fingers itching and his mind wondering what it would be like to dig into those gorgeous waves and curls.
Even at eight he’d had a crush on his babysitter, and tonight a fresh rush of infatuation was springing up for another brand of Rask woman.
She’d introduced herself as Desi Rask, so Ester had probably never married. For some reason, maybe his general mood about marriage lately, that knowledge landed like a sad clunk in his chest.
“Are you going to come inside?” Mayor Rask asked, drawing him out of his rambling thoughts.
“Oh, no. Steven’s sleeping. I should be getting back.”
Desi didn’t hug her grandmother when she approached the porch. Instead they stood with a good three feet between them, offering polite smiles, seeming more like mere acquaintances than relatives. It didn’t feel right by a long shot, but who was he to figure out the way life should go?
“Let me get my stuff first,” Desi said, rushing back down the six porch steps toward the Ford Taurus station wagon from at least two decades back. That car had definitely seen better days.
“I’ll help you,” he said on impulse, waiting for her to open the back liftgate. There were two suitcases, a few boxes and assorted household items, including a potted plant or two. Was she moving in?
“All I need is my overnight case for now.”
Maybe she was just passing through.
“I can get whatever else I need in the morning,” she said, her alto voice already beginning to grow on him. Would she still be there by the time he got off work tomorrow?
“May as well bring this one inside, too.” Ignoring her wish, he grabbed both suitcases and carried them up the porch and inside his neighbor’s house. This one gave the impression of being flighty, and he wanted to make sure for Gerda’s sake that her long-lost granddaughter stuck around for more than one stinking night. Surreptitiously catching Gerda’s gaze on his way inside the dimly lit house, he inquired with a raised brow, “Everything okay?”
She nodded in her usual stiff-upper-lip way, clutching the thick blue bathrobe to her throat. “She’ll have Ester’s old room, upstairs and down the hall.” Gerda’s robe was the exact shade of blue as Desi’s painted-on jeans, and he wondered if either woman noticed their similar taste in color.
Kent carried the bags around the grand piano in the center of the living room—the piano he’d once taken lessons on and now Steven also took lessons on—and headed up the stairs. The third door on the left was the room where Ester had taught him how to play Go Fish. He knew this house like it was his own, having lived next door nearly his entire thirty-six years. Being so deeply rooted in Heartlandia when his parents moved to a retirement village in Bend, he’d bought their house.
As a doctor and part owner of the Heartlandia Urgent Care, he had an early shift tomorrow, so he excused himself. “Welcome to Heartlandia, Desdemona, but I’ve got to go.”
Desi sent a hesitant but thoughtful glance his way just before he headed for the door, her eyes filled with questions and suspicion. He nodded good-night, recognizing the mistrustful look, since he saw the same expression each morning when he shaved. When had he lost his natural trust in women? Oh, right, when his wife walked out.
“Gerda, I’ll check in tomorrow.”
“Tell Steven to be sure and practice,” Gerda said, reminding Kent that his son could come up with a hundred excuses when it came time to take his piano lesson.
* * *
A few minutes later, lying on his bed, hands behind his head on the pillow, Kent stared at the ceiling, wrenching his memory all the way back to when he’d been eight. Ester Rask had run away and had never come back. So much of the story had eluded him all these years. Now he understood it was because she was pregnant. He’d never known that part of the equation before. He’d heard she’d died last year, seen how distraught Gerda had been when she’d come home from her mysterious trip to California just before she’d been appointed mayor pro tem. Yet she’d barely spoken about it, just moped around for months. At least Gerda had been able to see her daughter one last time—a sad consolation to a lost life together.
Now, like a prodigal granddaughter, the woman named Desdemona had shown up.
The downright sadness of all the lost family years hit him where it hurt most—in the gaping wound his wife had ripped open when she’d left him. As he clearly didn’t need to be reminded, Gerda wasn’t the only one moping around for months on end.
He shook off the negative memories, choosing to focus on the stars outside his window instead of the ache in his heart.
The strangest thing of all was, tonight he’d immediately reacted to Desi’s exotic beauty when he saw her under the soft glow of the porch lamp. But that was such a shallow response. He should ignore it. Yet, in the still of the night, under the gentle beams of moonlight, he couldn’t get her or those questioning, mistrustful brown eyes out of his mind.
Tall and well proportioned, with extra-fine hips, she was a woman who’d fit with his big, overgrown frame. He grimaced. Why torture himself and think about women? After seven years of marriage, he couldn’t make his wife stick around. Not even for Steven’s sake. Why fall for their beauty when their motives cut like blades? He ground his teeth and rolled over, willing the young mysterious woman out of his thoughts and demanding his mind go blank so he could finally fall asleep.
* * *
The next morning, Desi threw on an old sweatshirt and baggy jeans and made her way down the creaky staircase of the ancient house. Gerda was already up and reading the newspaper, and jumped up from the table the moment Desi set foot inside the kitchen. They tipped their heads to each other in a silent greeting. Like strangers.
“I don’t drink coffee, but I’ve got some if you’d like,” Gerda said, sounding eager to please.
“Thanks, but if you show me where you keep it, I’ll be glad to make it myself. Sit down.”
The thin and almost ghost-white woman pointed to the cupboards near the back door before sitting again. “Your mother always loved coffee, even when she was young. I used to worry it would stunt her growth, and she was only five foot three when she left.” Silence dropped like a forgotten net. But Gerda quickly recovered. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve always kept her favorite brand on hand, even now when I know she’ll never come—” The sentence broke in half as Gerda lost her voice.
Desi rushed to her grandmother and put her hands on those bony shoulders, her own throat thickening with loss and memories of a family she’d never gotten to know.
Gerda reached up and tentatively patted one of Desi’s hands with icy-cold knobby fingers. “I’d asked your mother to come home so many times.”
“I know you did. Mom finally told me.” Mom had felt fragile like Gerda the last few months of her life. Desi could only imagine how hard it must have been for a mother to lose her daughter when they’d been estranged all those years. As for why her mother had never returned, well, that mystery wasn’t likely to be resolved.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about coffee stunting my growth,” Desi said, deciding to change the subject. “I’m five foot nine.”
Gerda offered a wan smile and Desi waited for her face to brighten, even if only a little, then she went back to making the coffee. Gerda sipped hot tea and ate a piece of toast with marmalade, putting the taste for toast and jam in her mind. Mom loved orange marmalade, too.
Since Gerda seemed engrossed in the morning paper, and Desi wasn’t sure what to talk about anyway, she filled her coffee cup and wandered into the living room, to the gorgeous grand piano in the center of the room. She took a sip of coffee and carefully placed the cup on an adjacent TV tray containing a bowl of candy and a pile of colorful stickers.
Lifting the keyboard cover, she explored the keys, enjoying the feel of the cool ivory beneath her fingers. She’d had to sell her mom’s piano when she’d sold the house in L.A. to pay for the medical costs. She’d put the remaining contents of that house of memories into storage, the piano and everything it represented in their lives being the biggest memory of all. Music, and her mother’s talent, had been their bread and butter, keeping them afloat through all the tough times. And there had been many.
When Desi became old enough to work and was able to contribute toward house payments, they’d finally settled into their own home. Though she’d never been sure where the large down payment had come from, Desi had a sneaking suspicion her grandmother had something to do with it. Then her mother got sick. All those years in smoke-filled lounges had finally caught up with her. Four years of lung-cancer treatment and suffering for naught. Even after Mom had died, Desi was hit with huge medical bills.
As she so often did when she felt sad or moody, like right now, Desi turned to music. Soon her fingers danced along the keys, as if having memories in their tips. Beethoven’s “Für Elise” filled the room with the rich tone of the grand piano. When she’d finished, she moved on to a Chopin nocturne. On and on she played, forgetting all her worries, losses and fears, until her fingers and hands were tired. She hadn’t played perfectly, far from it, but what could she expect for not having touched a piano in months, since she’d sold theirs? Still, it felt good. Invigorating.
Desi sipped her tepid coffee then smiled, her mood elevated. She glanced up and found Gerda leaning against the kitchen door, tears brimming in her pale eyes.
“Your mother taught you well,” Gerda said.
Desi nodded. “She did. She loved music. All kinds. But you probably knew that.”
“I taught her how to play, you know.” Gerda stood straighter. “She was such a natural.”
The questions swimming in Desi’s head almost poured out of her mouth: Why did mom need to run away? Why did she rarely talk about you? Why did Mom insist it was just the two of us? What could have been so horrible for her mother to run away and sever all ties? But seeing her grandmother’s fragile state, the emotion she wore on the shabby midnight-blue bathrobe sleeve, Desi kept her questions silent.
“Do you still play?” Desi asked.
Gerda’s eyes brightened, and she proudly walked toward the piano. “I’ll have you know, besides being mayor pro tem of Heartlandia, I’m also the most sought-after piano teacher in town.” A mischievous smile stretched her sallow and lined cheeks as she sat on the other half of the bench. “For anyone under the age of twelve, that is.” That explained the candy and stickers.
Gerda chuckled and it sent a chill down Desi’s center. Her mother had laughed exactly like that. Up close, though Gerda’s eyes were milky blue, they were shaped like her mother’s, and though Gerda’s hair was all white now, she could tell that it used to be blond, also like her mother’s. The two women fit together like misplaced puzzle pieces, and why wouldn’t they, since they were mother and daughter?
Yet Mom had said very little about her family over the years. That was until her last days. All Desi knew growing up was the road and hotels and Mom. No strings. Just the two of them. Deep down Desi had always suspected it was because she was of mixed race that they’d kept to themselves. Though her mother had not once hinted at that being the reason. Being constantly on the road, with her mother working for a big Midwest hotel chain as the lounge entertainment, playing one month here, six weeks there, made it impossible to make friends or, evidently, keep in touch with relatives. Only on her mother’s deathbed had she asked for Gerda to come. And Desi had finally learned about the man named Victor Brown, the father she never knew.
Gerda had started playing a song meant as a duet. Desi had been taught the same song by her mother when she was a kid. Without being asked, she jumped in and played her part in the higher octaves, and if that sparkle in Gerda’s glance meant anything, Grandma was pleased.
They smiled tentatively at each other, then sat companionably for several minutes playing the piano together, and Desi was grateful that at least through music, they had a way to open up their communication. Otherwise, she felt like a stranger in a strange land in this place called Heartlandia.
“So you’re the mayor?” she asked at the end of the piano piece.
Gerda nodded. “Not by my choice, but the town likes to choose its mayor from people long invested in Heartlandia.” She looked straight ahead as she spoke. “I can trace my people almost back to the beginning. The only problem with that method is we get stuck in history, and these days we have a lot of new residents moving in because we have so much to offer families.”
“Not keeping up with the times?”
Gerda glanced at her. “Something like that. I’m only temporary, though, and we’ll have our general election next year. They promised the job wouldn’t be hard, but I’m clearly in over my head.”
“And then I show up.”
Gerda hung her head. “Desdemona, I wish we could have one huge do-over where you are concerned. Your mother ran away because she was ashamed of being pregnant. We found her when you were born, and I am deeply sorry to say Edvard and I were surprised when we saw you. Ester was such a touchy one. Always had been. I didn’t mean her to think what she did... You were my granddaughter. I loved you. But Edvard—”
“—couldn’t accept that I was half-black?”
“It’s not that simple, Desdemona. Please don’t think that.”
What was she supposed to think?
“I wanted to bring Ester and you home. She insisted she could take care of herself. I admit, I didn’t fight hard enough and gave in to Edvard.” Now Gerda connected head-on with Desi’s eyes. “I kept watch over the two of you as best I could, though from a long distance. And I sent money whenever Ester was especially hard up.”
Her mom must have kept those times to herself because in Desi’s memory they lived hand to mouth most of their years on the road. But then, out of the blue five years ago when Ester first got sick, they were able to buy a small house. The home they’d always dreamed and talked about. The timing was perfect, since her mother couldn’t keep up with traveling and chemo. Had her mom been saving Gerda’s money, or had Gerda helped out, as she’d previously suspected?
There was a reprieve from the cancer and Ester was able to take a few playing jobs here and there, but the cancer came back. Even then, Ester stayed away from Heartlandia.
“Why didn’t we ever visit?” Desi asked. It was an honest question that her mom had always evaded.
“It wasn’t because I didn’t invite you. Please know that. Your mother—” Gerda hung her head again. “She just didn’t want anything more to do with her home, I guess.”
Desi’s heart tightened. It must have been hard for Gerda to be rejected time and again by her daughter. Deciding they’d shared enough heartache for one morning, she went back to playing another simple song and soon Gerda, accepting the quiet reprieve, joined her.
After a few more duets and small talk, they went their separate ways, Gerda to spend some time at city hall and Desi to shower and dress.
She did some laundry and took a walk around the backyard, trying to figure out why her mother had been so stubborn, insisting on keeping her to herself despite the invitations to come home.
An abundance of rosebushes in assorted colors filled the air with a strong fragrance. A huge white hibiscus bush in the far corner seemed no less than twelve feet high. The Victorian-style house hadn’t looked nearly as bright yellow in the dark of night. Trimmed in green, with a pitched roof and a third-story dormer with a fanlight window, the house looked like something out of an old movie. Desi circled the perimeter of the house and noticed a partially covered balcony at the front and a second balcony on the side. What a gorgeous place...the home her mother had run away from.
Returning to the scene of the crime of last night—the gated side yard with overgrown bushes and shrubs—she glanced next door at another Victorian. It was painted completely white with a small bay window at the front, the only color in sight an aqua-blue door at the side entrance. Kent’s house almost looked medicinal. Churchlike. She wandered toward his house, noticing the artful subtleties of the architecture. But white? Really? It seemed such a waste.
Soon growing bored with trying to figure out why the big guy had the blandest house on the block, Desi’s gaze drifted to the imposing Columbia River several blocks away, down by the railroad tracks and the docks. The water twinkled beneath the strengthening sun. In the distance, the longest bridge she’d ever seen arched from this side of Oregon far across to what she assumed must be Washington State.
Though June, the brisk air brought gooseflesh to her arms even through her light sweater. She turned to go back inside. On the hillsides behind her stood dozens and dozens of more modest but brightly painted Victorians overlooking the jagged riverbank. Scattered among the Victorians were dwellings of half timber wood–half brick foundations with tall sloping roofs, reminding her of her Scandinavian heritage.
Her surname, Rask, was Danish, but according to her mother, she’d come from a place filled with Norwegians, Swedes, Finns and Icelanders along with the original Chinook peoples. When Ester rarely did talk about “home,” to Desi’s ears it sounded like a mythical place, perhaps a figment of her mother’s dreams, someplace she embellished to feed the imagination of her young daughter. This vista seemed to prove the point. It did almost look mythical.
Her mother had run away from an idyllic, lost-in-time town called Heartlandia. Or Hjartalanda, as the welcome sign at the edge of town said. She’d scoffed when she’d read the slogan beneath: Find Your Home in Heartlandia.
Was it possible? Could a quaint town fill up that huge hole inside her?
She headed up the stairs to her room. Seeing her grandmother again was only half of the reason for this trip to Oregon. The other half was her father.
A couple of hours later, after doing research on her laptop, Desi’s stomach growled. She wandered down to the kitchen, searching for food, but instead found Gerda home and fumbling with a rubber opener and a stubborn jar.
“Let me get that for you,” she said.
With a look of defeat in her eyes, Gerda handed over the jar. “My arthritis is giving me fits today.” She rubbed her hands and grimaced. “Guess I better start making phone calls and cancel tomorrow’s piano lessons.”
“How many students do you have lined up?”
“Four. I give lessons from two to six on Tuesdays and Thursdays since I do the part-time mayoral work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”
“All kids?”
Gerda nodded while searching the cupboard, looking at medicine bottles one by one until she found what she wanted.
“Any advanced students?”
“Oh, heavens, no. They’re all beginners in book one or two.” She shook out a couple of pills into the palm of her hand. “The next generation of great talent, as I tell their parents.”
“Why don’t you let me take over for you?”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said, filling a small glass with water and popping the pills into her mouth.
“I’m offering. It’s the least I can do since you’re letting me stay here as long as I want.”
Gerda folded her arms, her eyes nearly twinkling. “That would be wonderful.”
* * *
At five o’clock the next afternoon, a timid tap at the front door let Desi know the last student had shown up. Gerda had been so impressed with Desi’s teaching style, she’d dropped out of sight after the beginning of the four-o’clock lesson. Desi suspected it was to take a nap, as she’d been yawning throughout most of the last lesson.
Desi opened the door and found a towheaded boy with bright blue eyes, who was a little chunky around the middle. “Hi! Are you Steven?”
He nodded hesitantly. “Is Mrs. Rask here? It’s time for my lesson.” He waved three piano primer books like a fan.
“I’m substituting for Mrs. Rask today. She’s my grandmother.”
His eyes grew to the size of quarters. “You are? Wow. You don’t look like her. You’re pretty.”
She laughed. The boy was already a charmer. Looked as though that Kent guy needed to take a few lessons from his son.
Last night Gerda had filled in Desi on all of the students. Steven was eight and showed potential, but he didn’t put in enough effort to make much progress. Her job would be to light a fire in him for the joy of music. Tall order for a substitute.
The boy seemed tall for his age, and remembering his gigantic father, she understood why. Soon, when the growth spurts started, Steven would probably outgrow his chubbiness as she had when she was around that age.
Desi walked Steven to the piano, pulled out the bench and placed one candy where the boy could see it. “That’s for after you show me your written theory homework.”
He gulped. “Uh.” He screwed up his face, making a bundle of tiny lines crisscross over his tiny nose. “I think I forgot to do it.”
She bit back her smile, not wanting to let his cuteness get him off the hook. She subtly moved the candy back to the bowl and opened his book. “Well, then we’ll work on it together, okay?”
The fill-in questions for note names and the staffs to practice making treble and bass clefs went by quickly with her guidance, and he brightened up. She put two shiny stickers on the pages, and he grinned.
Desi took the same piece of candy from the bowl and returned it to the prior spot. “Are you ready to play for me?”
He nodded, opened his book and dug right in. Clunky and uneven, he banged out the simple notes, but Desi could tell he’d put a lot of effort into his playing. Even to the point of grunting and muttering “uh-oh” or “dang it, I keep messing up.”
She loved looking down at his silky white-blond hair and thought for a boy he smelled pretty good, too. Gerda had been right—Steven showed potential, but he just needed to be nudged. She patiently worked with him, curving his fingers just so, straightening his wrists and gently prodding his spine so he’d sit straighter. When he repeated his slouched posture over and over again, Desi realized he must have liked the way it felt when she walked her fingertips up his spine to get him to sit straight.
“That tickles,” he said after the third reminder, smiling up at her, and her strict teacher persona melted around the edges.
When she explained some of the tricky parts of the song and showed him how to play it, she noticed his head had come to rest on her upper arm. The sweetie liked this attention. Maybe she could use that to make a piano player out of him.
“Would you like to learn a different kind of song?”
“Yeah, this one seems kinda dorky.”
She played a simple basic blues song that used the bottom notes to make it sound snazzy. Steven sat right up, immediately interested in the piece. She found the page in the book so he could see the notes and showed him how to play the first few bars. He obviously liked the rhythm and soon his shoulders moved to the beat. She’d found it—his kind of song.
“I tell you what,” she said. “You live next door, right?”
He nodded, making a serious face, exaggerating his already-deep dimples.
“If you want to come over here after school a couple days during the week, I’ll let you practice on this piano, okay?”
“Will you be here?”
“Sure. I’ll even help you practice if you want.”
“Okay!”
The moment she’d finished carefully writing out his homework, the doorbell rang, and she jumped up to open it. The Norseman stood on the other side, overbearing in stature, first drilling a glance through her then peering inside the house. She’d forgotten how big Kent was. In daylight, his finely carved features and cutting blue eyes almost took her breath away. Too bad he chose to look so serious all the time. He wore a navy blue polo shirt, but the sleeves barely fit around his arms. The standard jeans fit very, very well, indeed.
She smiled a simple superficial greeting, while odd tingles threaded along her skin. “Come in,” she said. “We just finished.”
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hey, son.”
Steven gathered his piano books and rushed toward his father. “Ms. Desi is a really cool teacher!” They hugged, and Desi could see the honest-to-goodness love they shared. It was the same kind of you and me against the world love that she and her mom used to have, and the display touched her deep inside. Maybe she’d cut the big guy some slack.
“That’s great,” he said to his son, then looked at Desi with near alarm in his glance. “Are you taking over for Mrs. Rask?”
“Just today. Her arthritis is flaring up.”
“Won’t you be my teacher next week?” Disappointment poured out of Steven’s voice.
“We’ll see how Gerda feels, okay?” She walked back to the piano and picked up the wrapped candy, then came back to Steven and handed it to him. “I promised to help you practice, remember?”
He took the treat as if he’d gotten the biggest present in the world. “Gee, thanks!” Throwing his arms around her hips, he hugged her and squeezed, his cheek flat against her stomach. Such a sweet boy. She couldn’t say he was attention starved, not by the way his dad watched over him, but Steven sure liked being around her. It made her wonder where his mother was.
Midhug, she glanced up at Kent, her grin quickly shifting to a more serious expression. Though he tried to hide it, caution and warning flashed in his azure eyes, and the hair on the back of her neck alerted her to let go of Steven and back off.
She’d reacted instinctively to the boy and must have crossed over a deeply engraved line. She didn’t have a clue why she’d tripped the alarm, but she’d respect Kent’s nonverbal message. He watched steadily as she stepped away, and when they’d said their necessary goodbyes, all she could do was wonder what she’d done wrong.
Chapter Two (#ulink_0f83445a-951e-50ec-808e-8c4ecec73c49)
“Dad. Dad!” Steven pulled Kent’s arm as he unlocked the front door, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Ms. Desi’s the coolest piano teacher ever!”
“Mayor Rask is your piano teacher. Ms. Desi is just filling in.” He wanted to set that straight, right off.
Steven charged for the electric keyboard in the corner of the dining room the second they’d hit the front door. As he turned it on, the excitement in his bright blue eyes was almost contagious. Kent held firm, refusing to get swept up in his son’s enthusiasm. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let Steven get attached to every woman who was kind to him. And that had been his pattern since his mother had left.
No one could fill the void his son must feel.
Steven had his music book opened and seemed raring to go before the keyboard was even warmed up. Transformed before Kent’s eyes, the boy was the embodiment of eagerness—this from the kid who normally had to be dragged to piano lessons and who forced Kent’s patience to get him to practice. Steven pounded out a simple song that had definite blues overtones, and it wasn’t half-bad. The infectious smile on his face forced Kent to grin as he leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening. He loved seeing his son happy, especially after the rough couple of years they’d been through.
Blast it. The last thing he needed was for his son to have a crush on his substitute piano teacher—the woman who showed up in the dead of night and who might take off the same way. He couldn’t bear to see any more disappointment in Steven’s eyes.
How in hell was a child supposed to get over the heartbreak of his mother walking out at such a tender age, with not so much as a phone call on his eighth birthday?
If Kent had his way, Steven would have a couple of siblings by now, but that was the last thing Diana had wanted. Born and raised in Heartlandia, just like him, she wanted to move to a big city where she could spread her cosmopolitan wings and play wife to a doctor who made a staggering salary. She wanted parties and designer shopping sprees. She did not want to be married to a guy running his own urgent-care facility and having to be both businessman and doctor rolled into one. A guy who couldn’t predict which side of the red line they’d land on at the end of each month.
She’d thought being married to a doctor meant she’d be home free, rolling in dough. What with staff salaries to pay, the never-ending need for supplies or new equipment, liability insurance up to his ears and the lease on that overgrown building, some months he had to take a rain check on his own salary. Good thing he lived in the same house he grew up in, the one his parents practically gave away when they sold it to him and moved to Bend, Oregon, to enjoy their retirement.
Bottom line, Diana had wanted out. She’d wanted to be far away. She’d wanted San Francisco, not Heartlandia. She’d wanted to be single again. Single without a child hampering her whims.
“See, Dad? I can almost play all the notes.”
“That’s great.” He applauded. “If you practice every day, maybe you’ll have it memorized by next week.”
“Yeah! That would be the coolest. I could surprise her.”
“Now don’t go getting ahead of yourself. She’s only substituting for Mayor Rask. She may not even be here next week.” Kent went into the kitchen to throw some food together for dinner. Steven tagged along, practically on his heels.
“Can we invite Ms. Desi to the festival this weekend, huh?”
Kent didn’t want to speak for someone else, but he was quite sure Desi would be bored senseless at their hokey small-town Scandinavian festival. Wasn’t that what Diana used to call it? “I don’t know.”
“I could buy her some aebleskiver with my allowance. I just know she’d love them.”
Kent wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and hold him close, tell him to be careful about getting his hopes up where women were concerned. Instead, he pulled open the cupboard and rustled around the canned foods for some baked beans. He hoped to change the subject with food, one of Steven’s favorite topics. He’d grill some chicken and steam some broccoli, and pretend he didn’t hear Steven tell him “for the gazillion-millionth time” that he hated broccoli.
“Dad? Dad! Can we?”
Kent quit opening the can, inhaled and closed his eyes. “We’ll see.”
“Please, please, please?”
“I’ll think about it. Okay?” Feeling a major cave coming on, Kent went the diversion route. “Now go wash your hands.”
Already having his father pegged, Steven triumphantly pumped the air with his fist. “Yes!”
The never-say-die kid sure knew how to work his old man. Kent quietly smiled and went back to cooking.
After dinner and a lopsided conversation with Steven talking about life on the school playground and one quick confession that he thought Ms. Desi smelled like his favorite candy—tropical-flavored SweeTarts—Kent mentally relented. Why allow his lousy attitude about women to get in the way of his son enjoying himself? Besides, when Kent was a kid he had a new crush every week. Steven would soon forget “Ms. Desi” and all would be back to normal.
After he cleaned up the kitchen he’d take a walk next door and ask Desi if she’d like to come along on Saturday. He wouldn’t say a word to Steven, though, so the kid wouldn’t feel the sting if she said thanks but no.
An hour later, Steven was showered and in his pajamas and planted in front of the TV in the family room.
Kent stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering why in hell he felt compelled to brush his teeth and gargle before heading next door. He cursed under his breath as he headed downstairs toward the door. If he didn’t watch it, next he’d be picking posies from the yard for the substitute teacher.
Nothing made sense about asking the new lady in town along just because his son wanted her to come. One thing was painfully clear, though. He’d been hanging out with eight-year-old boys too much lately. Then one last thought wafted up as he crossed his lawn, heading for Gerda’s place—even an eight-year-old could see Desi was easy on the eyes.
* * *
Desi sat on a wicker glider on the large front porch behind the second arch, the huge living room window behind her. She’d thrown one of Gerda’s warm shawls over her shoulders to ward off the chill from the night air. Under the dim porch light she was barely able to make out the print in the Music Today magazine she’d surprisingly found on her grandmother’s coffee table.
Soon she’d have to switch to her eReader and that novel she’d started before she’d left home if she wanted to stay outside. And she did want to stay outdoors to give herself and Gerda some space. There’d been too many extended silences, too many bitten back questions from Desi and started but abruptly ended sentences from Gerda. So much to ask. So much to say. So hard to begin.
Tonight her grandmother seemed preoccupied with mayoral work, and Desi felt out of place. She stared at her scuffed brown boots, wishing she knew how to broach the subject of her mother. What was she like as a kid? Did she always love chili cheeseburgers? What made her think she had to run away when she got pregnant instead of telling her parents and working things out? But people were tricky. You couldn’t always get right to the heart of the matter without first building trust, and her grandmother was obviously holding back the details.
She looked around the large, homey porch and inhaled the night air, even detected a hint of that jasmine from the side of the house. She twitched her nose. Something about this old house calmed her down, as if it had reached inside and said, Hey, you might just belong here. This is where your mother grew up; these rooms, scents, colors, textures and sounds are your roots.
Soles scuffing up the walkway averted her attention from her thoughts. Her gaze darted to the tall blond man from the bland house next door—the overprotective father with some sort of grudge—Kent.
An unnatural expression smacking of chagrin eclipsed his handsome face. It lowered his brows and projected caution from those heavy-lidded eyes. The sight of him set off a pop of tension in her palms.
He cleared his throat, and she closed the magazine. “Nice night, huh?”
One corner of her mouth twitched with amusement over his awkward opening. “Seems kind of cold to me.”
“That’s Oregon for you.”
She smiled, deciding to toss the poor man a lifeline. “Is it?” When was the last time he’d talked socially with a woman?
“Yup. Unpredictable, except for rain.” He came closer to the porch but not all the way up, one foot two steps higher than the other. He put his palms on his knee and leaned on them, an earnest expression humbling his drop-dead looks. “Listen, I want to apologize in case I came off cranky this afternoon.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Cranky? My grandmother might get cranky, but you, well, you seemed bothered. Yeah, that’s the word—bothered.”
He scratched one of those lowered brows. “Sorry.”
“I was just being nice to your son, not planning on snatching him. Making him feel good about his progress, that’s all.”
“Yeah, and he couldn’t stop talking about what a great teacher you are when we got home, too.”
She smiled and magnanimously nodded her head. Yes, I am a good piano teacher, thank you very much. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not hardly.”
As he got closer, the tension in her palms spread to her shoulders, and she needed to stretch. Couldn’t help it.
He watched with interest. “So anyway,” he said, “this time every June we have this thing called the Summer Solstice Scandinavian Festival. Maybe your grandmother already told you about it?”
She shook her head.
“But as mayor pro tem she starts off the parade,” he said.
“She hasn’t said a word about it to me.”
Gerda hadn’t been feeling well tonight, and she’d seemed distracted after a hushed phone conversation. During dinner, Desi had talked about the piano students, even though a big question loomed in her mind. Why couldn’t you and Mom ever patch things up?
“Really?” He seemed surprised.
During dinner, Desi couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject about how bad their mother-daughter relationship must have been. Still, every indication—from the way her grandmother had opened the home to her to the way Desi caught her sneaking loving looks at her—suggested she was wanted. Yet that feeling of not belonging prevailed, along with the thought that Gerda was simply doing her duty out of guilt.
She shook her head at Kent. “The subject of an annual festival never came up.”
“Well, the thing is, Steven would really like you to go with us to the parade and festival on Saturday.”
Desi liked seeing the big man so completely out of his comfort zone and sat straighter. “So he sent you over to ask me out?”
Finally, a smile. Well, half of a smile. “Not exactly.”
“He doesn’t know you’re asking, and you’d rather die than ask a tall, dark stranger to come along, so you snuck over behind his back to ask me to say no?”
The look he shot her seemed to ask, Are you a mind reader? Or she could be reading into it, just a wee bit.
“Not it at all. And, man, you’ve got quite an imagination.” So much for her theory. He shook his head with slow intent. “I was thinking more that you’d rather pull weeds than be stuck with me for an afternoon. But Steven... He’s a kick. He wants to spend his allowance on you.”
She tilted her head, charmed by her young absentee suitor. “Not every day a male wants to spend his allowance on me. How can I refuse?”
Kent scratched the corner of his mouth. “You were right—I didn’t tell him I was asking you in case you didn’t want to come with us.”
“How thoughtful of you, protecting Steven.” Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the vibes he gave off. “And thanks for giving me an out...but I’d like to go.” Sorry to disappoint.
Surprise opened his eyes wide. His sexy bedroom eyes—there were no other words for them. The sight of them did something deep in her belly, making her sit up and take notice. “I’m starting to feel a little cooped up in this big old house already, and I’d like to see the rest of the town.” See what my mother ran away from.
His quick smile died before it reached his cheeks. “Before you take off again?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She didn’t have time to analyze what stick had been surgically implanted into Kent Larson’s spine, or why he was giving her such a hard time about coming and going as she pleased, so she ignored him. She’d stay in Heartlandia as long as she wanted or needed, and she didn’t need his permission to leave when she was ready. “I meant, I’m looking forward to spending more time with Steven and seeing more of Heartlandia. And you can tell him I said yes.”
“Good. That’s good.” He sounded hesitant. “Steven will be excited.”
And what about you? She’d been around the country a few dozen times, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask. Was her crazy physical reaction every time he came around by any chance mutual?
Did this Viking from the bland house next door have any soul? Any passion? He seemed to be bound by courtesy and what was expected of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something must have happened to make those invisible walls so high. Yet Steven was as lovable and huggable as a soft teddy bear.
At least Kent hadn’t spoiled the boy with his standoffish attitude. Yet.
With his mission accomplished, and without further words, Kent had already turned to leave.
“Tell Steven I’m really looking forward to going, okay?”
He tossed a thoughtful gaze back at her, took her in with a leisurely tour of her entire body. It was the first sign of life she’d seen in him since the night they’d met in the dark, giving her the inkling that maybe her physical response to him was reciprocated.
A subtle shiver rolled through her, and she clutched the shawl tighter and closer to her neck.
“I’ll do that,” he said. “We’ll pick you up on Saturday morning around ten.” And off he went, almost smiling, down the steps and toward the dark path home.
“Got it,” she said softly, grateful the boy would be along to ward off the unexplainable reaction she had to the big guy with the aloof attitude.
* * *
Saturday morning was cool and damp, and Desi pulled her hair tightly back into a bun and covered it with a knit cap, careful not to catch her huge hoop earrings. She zipped her thin hoodie to the neck and did the final is my butt too big in these jeans? check via the full-length mirror. The doorbell rang and she stopped obsessing over what nature had given her and hustled out the bedroom door.
Gerda had answered the door already, and Steven and Kent hung back just outside on the porch, talking quietly.
“Oh, good, you’re ready,” Gerda said when Desi appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got to go. Need to be there a half hour before the parade starts.”
Desi rushed down the steps. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
Gerda was already on the porch and halfway toward her car in the driveway. “See you there!”
“We’ll be by your booth for some aebleskiver later,” Kent said.
Gerda’s smile widened, setting off a network of wrinkles. “I’ll make some fresh just for you,” she said, looking at Steven.
She’d be manning the Daughters of Denmark bakery booth all afternoon after playing grand marshal. Somehow the old woman had become a figurehead for Heartlandia, and it was another duty she’d hesitantly accepted.
Pride broke into Desi’s chest and she waved to her grandmother. “I’ll be cheering for you!”
The car door closed and Gerda continued to smile as she backed out. It always caught Desi off guard how much of her mother she saw in her grandmother’s face. So far they hadn’t talked nearly enough about her mother, maybe because it was still too painful, but little by little they’d begun to forge their own cautious relationship.
After Gerda had gone, Desi looked at Kent. “Do I need an umbrella?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Kent said, obviously enjoying his first glance at Desi, shaking her up with his sharp blue eyes. “You look like a Scandinavian flag.”
Stopped in her tracks, Desi did a mental inventory of her choice of colors. A bright blue knit cap and red sweatshirt. “Gee, thanks. Just what every girl longs to hear.”
“You look cool, Ms. Desi,” Steven said, beaming at her.
Maybe she’d ignore the father and hang out with the son all morning. “Thanks, Steven.” She stopped herself from messing his shaggy, nearly white-blond hair, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it—especially if he was planning to spend his allowance on her. And she had every intention of paying him back with the money she earned from her part-time calligraphy jobs.
“We better get going.” Kent nudged Steven along with a hand to his neck. Steven halfheartedly tried to kick his dad’s leg. Kent played along, kicking back, missing by a mile. The boy giggled.
Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Desi followed them off the porch toward the curb.
They rode over in a white—why was she not surprised—pickup truck, sitting three across with Steven between them. After a brief silence, Steven spoke up.
“The sons and daughters of Heartlandia first came together to start this festival fifty years ago,” Steven recited like a tour guide for the city. “The early summer festival celebrates our Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish and Danish heritage—” he stumbled over some of the words, but managed to spit them out pretty well for an eight-year-old “—from the early fishermen settlers first stranded on our coast.” He stopped long enough to swallow. “Our first peoples, the Chinook, saved and nursed our shipwrecked forefathers to health and taught them the secrets of hunting and fishing the waters of the great Columbia River.” A quick picture of Linus explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown came to mind with the quiet yet capable way Steven told his city’s history.
“Okay, Steven, you don’t need to repeat your entire class presentation for Ms. Desi.”
“I liked it. Thank you, Steven.”
“As you can tell,” Kent interjected, “Hjartalanda is proud of both the Scandinavian and Chinook heritage.”
“We have a special celebration for the Chinook peoples in—” Steven screwed up his face, eyes up and to the right. “What’s that month, Dad?”
“October.”
“Yeah, October. Then we have a beer barn, too, so that gets the old farts to come.”
Desi sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself.
“Watch the language,” Kent warned benevolently. “And, Steven, that’s not exactly why we have the beer barn. It’s—”
“That’s what you said to Officer Gunnar that time.”
Kent flashed a sparkling look at Desi over Steven’s head. He enjoyed his son as much as she did. She lifted her brows. You get yourself out of this one.
“That was just an observation between him and me, and for your information, I said ‘geezers,’ not ‘farts.’”
Steven giggled. “Fart is a funny word. I like it better. Fart, fart, fart.” He dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“That’s enough of that.” Kent tried to sound stern, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth told a different tale.
Desi grinned at the father and son’s candid conversation during the drive over. Maybe, if she kept quiet, she’d learn a heck of a lot more about Heartlandia—or Hjartalanda, as Kent had called it—than she’d found out from her grandmother so far.
Steven taught her a hand game for the rest of the short drive over, where one person would place their palms on top of the other, and the bottom person had to try to slap the upper person’s hands. Something about his earnest approach to everything he did made her warm inside. He was easy to giggle, too, and she joined right in, even as she nearly got slapped silly from his quick reflexes.
They parked outside the central section of town and hiked up toward the main street called Heritage. Desi glanced far off at one end to see what looked like an official building, maybe city hall, with a totem-pole-type monument in front. She turned and gazed down to the other end, noticing storefronts, restaurants and other businesses in what seemed like a time warp to the 1950s architecture and style with evidence of 1970s expansion. One large building, six stories high, sat apart from the other mostly single-or two-story frames. It smacked of the Art Deco era of the twenties and thirties with geometric domes and lavish ornamental copper accents, which had turned green. Desi wondered if there was an ordinance about not building tall after The Heritage Hotel and Performance Center went up.
She’d slowed her pace to take it all in, and Steven grabbed her hand, pulling her along. Clusters of people grouped around the street corners and more lined the curbs with chairs and blankets to sit on. It seemed as if every person in the city had shown up for the parade.
“Move back, folks. Make way for the parade.” A sturdy, broad-shouldered police officer spoke to the thickening group on one particular corner. The guy was built as if he could make a living on the side as a cage fighter.
“Quit harassing the locals. Cut us some slack, Sergeant, would you?” Kent’s outburst made Desi tense. This wasn’t the kind of guy anyone in their right mind should want to challenge.
The intense-eyed, equally handsome and obviously Scandinavian male turned to Kent. The grim expression on his face broke apart into a wide grin. “You give me a hard time and I’ll haul your—” he glanced at Steven then back to Kent “—backside in.”
The men shook hands, and Desi knew immediately they were friends. Respect shone through Kent’s and the officer’s eyes, and something else, too—something that looked a lot like brotherly love.
The policeman with light brown hair and flashing green eyes bent to greet Steven. “How’d you talk your old man into bringing you to the parade this year?”
“I asked my piano teacher along,” Steven said, pointing to Desi.
Feeling suddenly on display, she made a closed-lip smile, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. The officer looked her way and tipped his head, obvious interest in his gaze. She gave a single nod back.
“This is Mayor Rask’s granddaughter, Desdemona,” Kent said, reaching for her arm and encouraging her forward. “And this is Gunnar Norling, my best friend since grammar school.”
“Hey. Nice to meet you,” he said, casting a quick sideways glance at Kent, ensuring he’d get the lowdown later, before smiling at her.
“Call me Desi.”
“Okay.” He reached for her hand.
A drum-and-bugle corps rent the air, alerting the crowd the parade was about to begin, and Gunnar’s attention immediately went elsewhere.
“Enjoy the parade, guys. I’m on duty.” Off he went, looking attractive and official in the dark blue uniform.
The next thing Desi saw was the flag corps consisting of six teenage boys proudly displaying the five Scandinavian banners plus the U.S. pennant in the center. Each young man wore a vest in the traditional color of their country as they walked to the rhythm of three snare drummers directly behind them. Then came her grandmother sitting in the cab of an open horse-drawn carriage, waving demurely as she progressed down the street.
Desi waved wildly along with Steven and Kent, and Gerda’s eyes brightened, stretching her Mona Lisa smile into a toothy grin.
As the procession continued, individual countries paraded their famous costumes and music while walking beside simple floats and automobiles.
The women and girls wore ankle-length dresses covered with colorful aprons and shawls or capes. Some wore white scarves on their heads, which made them look like flashy nuns, or little hats trimmed in red or blue. All the women wore thick stockings and what looked like homemade leather shoes. Large beaded necklaces seemed to be in vogue with many of the women in costume.
The men’s outfits reminded Desi of a famous TV commercial for cough drops. She especially liked the bright vests and little turbans or knit caps with tassels some of the men wore.
The intense colors on all of the apparel impressed Desi—mostly reds and blues with some yellow—along with the pride and joy that poured out of every participant as they strolled by. She glanced at Steven and Kent and saw the same pride and joy on their faces.
“That’s Viking,” Kent said, pointing to one group.
Steven saw one of his friends walking with the adults and gave a holler. Kent grabbed him and gave him a noogie as they watched the group pass. The father and son touched affectionately a lot, she realized, and seemed to get along great. Mother or not.
“That’s Swedish, my people,” Kent said, as the next float approached.
The subtle differences between the groups were hard for her to see, yet everyone else seemed to know exactly who was who. What must it be like to belong so deeply to something, to have a heritage you could trace back thousands of years and know like the back of your hand? “Here come the Danes.” Kent smiled and glanced at her. In the front row of participants was a young girl of mixed race, like herself, and she led the way. What was he trying to communicate, that she wasn’t the only biracial person in town?
Heck, half of her family tree was cut off at the very first fork, a blunt and wide cut that ended with a single name—Victor Brown.
“Here come the Fins.” Kent continued his parade coverage, his hands on Steven’s shoulders and the boy’s head resting against him, just above his belt.
Desi couldn’t tear her attention away from the genealogy marching before her. She was made up of just as much of this as the other mysterious side, and today she deeply felt the Scandinavian connection.
“Here’s my favorite, the Icelanders!” Steven jumped in, pointing ahead. “They always wear the funnest hats.”
Besides the um-pa-pa sounds coming from some of the floats, there were others with fiddles that sounded so similar to what Desi knew as Celtic tunes. There was maypole-type dancing between some floats and livelier, showier footwork, knee and shoe slapping, among the boys and men between other floats. Her cheeks soon grew tired from all of the grinning.
As the parade went on, more modern versions of Scandinavian clothing came through. The easily spotted knit sweaters and caps, and stylish sheep-fur-lined boots sported by preschoolers and kindergartners grabbed her attention. A group of teens showed off what could only be described as Scandinavian grunge, complete with famous storybook red braids and raccoon-styled makeup, while doing gymnastics and a little street dancing.
Something was brewing and bubbling in Desi’s chest. Could she see herself in the light faces of these people? Her mother’s Nordic beauty was hard to detect when Desi looked in the mirror, yet it was there—her high cheekbones, the shape of her brows, the expressive eyes. Her mother was inside her—in every cell and in half of her DNA.
Her mother had run away and given up her entire life for Desi. She owed it to her to keep her mind and heart open to this town and all that it was and could offer. She needed to stick around long enough to learn who she was before she took off searching for the other half.
An hour after it had started, the parade came to a close with a final um-pa-pa group, and a small, sweaty hand on hers brought her back to the moment.
“Let’s get over to the booths before the lines get too long,” Steven said, tugging her down the street. So far the weather had cooperated, the earlier gray clouds parting, revealing bright blue sky above.
Kent walked a few feet away from them like a tall, benevolent chaperone giving them space.
“Is this where everything happens in town?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Pretty much. We’ve got a lot of touristy shops for the cruise-line visitors down toward the docks, but most of the travelers like to come up here to eat. We’ve got some great restaurants.”
One redbrick restaurant and bar had a few tables out front and a black-and-white canopy under which an older African-American man sat drinking coffee as they passed. He wore a starched white chef’s shirt and hat placed at a jaunty angle on his head. Their eyes met, as two standouts might, and he tipped his head at her without a hint of a smile. She smiled and repeated the gesture, noticing the name of the restaurant and promising to find her way back at some point. Lincoln’s Place. “Good food since 1984. Live music and Happy Hour specials daily at the bar,” the sign said.
Kent waved and the man lifted his palm in return.
Down the street was a small white restaurant, with a blue-and-yellow canopy out front, called Husmanskost.
“What’s that?”
“They specialize in Swedish cuisine. I’ll bring you some samples from the booths.”
Desi kept walking, but her gaze stayed on the cute little restaurant, wondering what unusual tastes and dishes she’d find inside.
At the food section, the wait at Gerda’s Danish Bakery booth was nominal. Gerda was already there working, and she smiled her greeting, then turned and picked up some already-packaged treats.
“I thought you were going to make the aebleskiver fresh for us,” Kent said with a teasing tone.
“Even an old coot like me knows how to read phone messages. Steven texted you were on your way over as soon as the parade ended.”
Desi shook her head and smiled over Steven’s resourcefulness. Behind the counter on another surface were several grills with small round grooves filled with pancakelike batter. The other cook on hand used a toothpick to move the pastry ball around to cook it on all sides. It looked like a tedious job, and Desi knew she’d wind up with burned pastry if she were in charge.
“I gave you a mixture, Steven,” her grandmother said. “Some have apples inside, others raspberry. Be sure to put extra powdered sugar on them. Oh, and I gave you different sauces to dip them in.”
The fresh apple and cinnamon aroma of the small doughnut-hole-type baked goods made Desi’s mouth water. “I’d like to try one with just the powdered sugar, if you don’t mind.”
Steven’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite, too!”
When they perched at a small table, Steven opened the box. Kent made a quick, stealthy reach right after Steven powdered them and popped one into his mouth.
“Hey, buy your own, Dad. These are for me and Ms. Desi.”
Kent’s brows shot up and, combined with the cheeks full of bakery goods, the vision made Desi laugh. He shrugged and said something completely unintelligible through his full mouth. A crazy urge to lick away some of the powdered sugar from his lips and chin gave Desi pause. What the heck was going on?
Of course she understood that Kent was an amazingly attractive man. It was apparent most of the women in Heartlandia—at least those at the parade who made obvious eyes at him—thought so, too. Besides, she was a healthy young woman who hadn’t had a date in a long time. Of course she’d notice a guy like Kent. But this slow-heat in her lower parts whenever he was around still took her by surprise.
Step away from the merchandise. The last thing she needed was to complicate her circumstances by developing a crush on her grandmother’s neighbor.
Kent slipped away as she and Steven gobbled down the delights. After they knocked off what was left of the dozen, grinning and smacking their lips all the way, Kent reappeared with a couple of containers. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?”
“I brought you some fish balls.”
She didn’t think she could eat another bite.
“Just a taste. Come on.”
He fed her a nibble of the fish ball, and even though it was a stinky fish ball, all the while she thought this encounter was too intimate for a public place. “Mmm, that’s delish.”
“There’s plenty more you’ll have to sample.” She glanced at his mouth and thought she’d like to sample that, too. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a midnight supper.”
That sent her mind to a completely inappropriate place and her cheeks heated up. “I need something to drink.”
“Steven, get Desdemona some water, will you, please?”
Her name seemed to simmer on his lips. Sheesh, he’d better make that ice water. “Thanks.”
“If you’d like, I’ll take you for a proper Swedish dinner sometime.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure you’re too busy with your clinic and all to do that.”
“You know about the Urgent Care?”
“My grandmother couldn’t be prouder of you if you were her own son.”
“Did someone say my name?”
As more helpers arrived, Gerda had taken a break from her booth, coming around the corner and taking Desi by the elbow. “Steven, Kent, may I borrow Desi for a few minutes?”
Kent’s police-sergeant friend showed up with a coffee in one hand and a huge Danish in the other. After delivering the water, Steven had waved to a few of the local boys, yet he still looked disappointed at the prospect of Desi leaving.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
“We’re going to do some boring booth shopping,” Gerda added. “But you’re welcome to come along.”
Steven wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna go play with my friends.” He pointed to the group of boys chasing each other around for no apparent reason.
Kent waved his acknowledgment of everyone’s whereabouts without missing a beat of the friendly conversation with his best buddy. Those guys seemed to really enjoy each other.
Traveling all her life had meant good friendships were hard to make, and that had always bothered Desi. What would it be like to have a special friend to share all of your thoughts with? Anytime she’d started to get to know a kid her own age, her mother would get a new hotel assignment in another city. Heck, Desi had always felt more like a mascot to the hotel housekeeping staff around the country than a friend to anyone.
Gerda guided Desi by several booths, making a stop in front of each one and introducing her. “Hey, everyone, this is my granddaughter, Desdemona.” She couldn’t seem prouder, and it gave Desi pause. If her mother had only given things a chance...
At the jewelry booths, she saw beautiful examples of the necklaces many of the parade participants wore and also brooches. Her eyes lit up at the meticulously knitted sweaters and hats at another booth two doors down.
“Oh, I love that red-and-white one,” she blurted out.
“Try it on. Let me buy it for you,” Gerda said.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“I’ve missed a lot of birthdays and Christmases. Please let me buy you a gift.”
Feelings she wasn’t prepared for folded into her heart. She reached out and for the first time hugged her grandmother. “Thank you.”
“We’ll take this,” Gerda said midhug to the little lady behind the counter.
As they pulled back, Desi offered a sympathetic smile tinged with long-lost family ties. The tears in her own eyes were reflected back at her in Gerda’s kind expression. They’d missed out on so much together. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Gerda gripped Desi’s shoulders, letting her know how important this was to her.
Kent strolled up, stopping briefly when he realized he’d invaded a private moment. “Oh, sorry.”
Desi and Gerda opened their hug but remained arm over arm. “Grandma just bought me the most beautiful sweater.” The lady behind the counter had finished wrapping it in tissue paper and putting it inside a bag with all five of the Scandinavian flags on it, then handed it to Desi.
“That’s great. You’ll have to model it for me sometime.” His genuine smile rolled over her, doubling the unfamiliar feelings she harbored in her heart right then, until caution stepped in. Don’t get too chummy with anyone because you won’t be around that long. At the warning, her arm slipped from her grandmother’s back.
“I’ve got to get back to the booth,” Gerda said. “Why don’t you show Desi around all of the displays?”
“Glad to. That is, if Steven doesn’t get his nose bent out of shape.”
“I think he’s forgotten me for that group of boys over there.”
Gerda pointed at Kent. “I remember this one when he was Steven’s age. I could tell he had a crush on Ester, and I warned her to be extra nice to him when she babysat. Do you remember that?”
“I do. Truth was, Ester was my first big heartbreak.”
Kent went quiet as Gerda shut down before Desi’s eyes. Pain replaced the tender glances from earlier, and after a goodbye nod, Gerda make a quick departure for the bakery booth.
Desi and Kent exchanged puzzled glances. How should she process what had just happened? Kent had accidentally brought up the taboo topic. No wonder it seemed so hard to ask about her mother, when her grandmother had never gotten over her running away.
Kent flattened his lips into a straight line. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”
“It’s so many years. Who would think it could still be so painful?”
“Losing a kid. I don’t know how I’d survive,” he said.
Desi couldn’t begin to imagine the hurt her mother had caused when she’d set out on her own, barely eighteen and pregnant. Seemed as though there were always two sides to every story. Times like these, Desi wished with all of her heart her mother was alive and she could ask her the tough questions.
Kent glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s after noon. The kid’s distracted. Would you like a taste of schnapps in some cocoa? I know just the place.”
“Sounds good.” Anything to replace the heartsick feeling for her mother and grandmother that had suddenly come over her. How different would her life have been if her mother and grandparents could have worked things out?
Off they went, down the street toward a booth decorated in swaths the colors of the Swedish flag. On the way, without asking, Kent took her hand with a gentle, comforting touch, setting off a tingly domino effect all the way to her toes.
Chapter Three (#ulink_73acb37c-8390-5cc5-9bf9-fb7e56de0d19)
Kent let rip a piercing whistle as he set the three cocoas on the outdoor table. After Desi nearly jumped from her chair, she saw Steven making a beeline for them. The kid must know his dad’s call.
“That’s yours.” Kent handed Desi a thick mug filled with rich, hot chocolate with a strong peppermint aroma.
“Thanks.” Seated beside a small round table, she blew over the top of her mug and inhaled more of the delicious scents. “You always call your kid like a dog?”
Kent winked at her. “Works every time.”
The quick, subtle wink sent a comet up her spine, and she sat infinitesimally straighter.
Steven arrived, took one quick sip and put the non-spiked cocoa down. “Thanks, Dad! Gotta go.”
“Wai...wai...wait a minute.” Desi grabbed the boy’s sleeve and pulled him back. “I thought I was your guest today. Stick around and finish your cocoa. Talk to us a little bit before you run off with your friends again, or I’ll get my feelings hurt.”
The boy sat on the edge of the chair, too antsy to sit still. “We’re playing tag.” He slurped another drink. “I’m it.”
“Sounds fun, but they get to see you every day at school.” Once she had Steven’s attention, she took a long drink of the warm, spiked cocoa and let it go down slow.
“Have you ever been in the parade?” she asked.
Steven tried to be polite, feet fidgeting, eyes darting to the side from time to time. “Not yet. But next year the fourth-grade class gets to make a float and wear costumes.”
Desi glanced toward Kent. “Were you in the parade when you were in fourth grade?”
“You bet. One of the biggest days of my grammar school life.” Kent’s usual guarded style gave way to a smile, making him look younger, even a little carefree.
But Steven changed. His previous exuberance closed down and he stared at his drink. “Will I wear Swedish or Norwegian colors, Dad?”
“Both, if that’s what you want to do.”
Kent had grown more solemn, too, and Desi’s imagination started working overtime. Swedish? Norwegian? Her eyes darted between father and son. Did it have something to do with the missing mother and wife? And what was the deal with her? But like so many other times, she left her questions unspoken.
Steven finished half of his drink and plopped the cup on the table. “Now can I go play?”
“What about me?” Desi teased, reaching to tickle his sweatshirt-covered chest, trying to lighten the mood again.
“I’ll bring you some bubblegum after me and my friends go to the candy booth.”
“Gee, thanks. I feel so special.” She glanced at Kent. “I hope he didn’t learn his dating techniques from you.”
Steven’s eyes lit up. “I know! I’ll bring you some fruit-flavored SweeTarts.”
Never in her life would she ask for SweeTarts, or for a kid to spend his money on her, but since it seemed like such a big deal to the boy, she cheered. “Yay!”
Kent got a funny look on his face and shook his head as Steven sped off.
“You are going to pay him back, right?” she asked. “I’d hate for your kid to spend all of his hard-earned allowance on me.”
“Wouldn’t that make it our date?”
She locked eyes with Kent, refusing to get lost in those arctic blues. “How about I pay you and make it Dutch?” She looked suspiciously around, wondering if it was okay to say Dutch in Heartlandia.
Tiny crinkles formed at the edges of his eyes, and Desi realized Kent was smiling again. “The other night he told me you smell like his favorite candy. That’s why he’s buying the SweeTarts for you.”
She laughed. “SweeTarts?” She sniffed her wrists. “I guess my perfume does smell a little like candy.”
She offered her wrist for Kent to try. He leaned forward and sniffed, his gaze walking from her wrist up her arm and connecting with her eyes. Zing. Heat jetted from her chest to her cheeks in record time. Feeling awkwardly aroused, she took her arm back and pretended to watch Steven run off.
“How funny he noticed,” she muttered.
“He’s a smart kid. A great kid.”
“Agreed.” She sipped more of the delicious enhanced cocoa and let the newly emerged sunshine further warm her tingling face.
Kent’s fingers tapped her knuckles, setting off a second wave of shivers. “He came from a mixed marriage, you know.”
She cocked her head in Kent’s direction. The kid was a towhead.
He had a playful glint in his eyes. “His mother’s Norwegian.”
“Ah. Gee, it must have been hard with two extremely different cultures living under the same roof.” She’d play along to see if he’d open up about the wife who was no longer in the picture.

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