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Now She's Back
Anna Adams
Was he angry at her for leaving, or for coming back?When Emma Candler returned to Bliss, Tennessee, after four long years trying to find-or lose-herself, she was intent on restoring more than just her nan's termite-tortured old house. She had her life and her dignity to rebuild, too. Every small-town gossip knew all about the family fiasco she had fled from, and the fiance she had hoped would follow.But Noah Gage wasn't a follower. And he didn't seem too pleased to see her back…or impressed with her attempts to make amends.Maybe there was nothing left between them. But Emma had to try to make things right.


Was he angry at her for leaving, or for coming back?
When Emma Candler returned to Bliss, Tennessee, after four long years trying to find—or lose—herself, she was intent on restoring more than just her nan’s termite-tortured old house. She had her life and her dignity to rebuild, too. Every small-town gossip knew all about the family fiasco she had fled from, and the fiancé she had hoped would follow. But Noah Gage wasn’t a follower. And he didn’t seem too pleased to see her back...or impressed with her attempts to make amends. Maybe there was nothing left between them. But Emma had to try to make things right.
“The thing is, he didn’t love me.”
“He did. I was there. Noah loved you deeply.”
No. He had wanted to love her. But he’d had no time to let Emma in, to let her share his burdens. But she wasn’t about to dredge up the same old song with her mother. “Whatever happened, it’s in the past. His mother just hasn’t noticed yet.”
“What do you want from him, Emma?”
She blinked. “That’s an odd question from you.”
Her mother only waited.
“Nothing.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_cae8a39b-3df6-5f81-8619-f4b50e43aec8),
Now She’s Back begins on my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. When I was ten, my parents split up, and my mother moved us children back to her family’s part of the world—the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. Little did I know we had an amazing tradition that had been going on for years while I pranced around a southern beach. I missed that beach. I never feel more at peace than when the ocean is playing music in my head, but if I could spend one more Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s table in Tennessee, that would be perfection.
When I started this story, I wanted to bring you to the Smokies for a family dinner at Grandma’s, but I had a difficult time because perfection in my head didn’t fly straight onto the page. Then I asked my own beloved grandmother into my fictional kitchen, and her love and compassion fueled this book.
If ever a couple hungered for love and compassion, it’s Emma Candler and Noah Gage. They contend with old scandals and fresh wounds. They have to learn each other all over again and overcome old habits built on defenses they’ve built against a hard world.
I hope you’ll enjoy dinner at their Thanksgiving table, and I hope you’ll come back to the town of Bliss, wrapped in the mists of the Smoky Mountains.
All the best,
Anna


Now She’s Back
Anna Adams


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANNA ADAMS
wrote her first romance on the beach in wet sand with a stick. These days she uses pens, software, or napkins and a crayon to write the kinds of stories she loves best—romance that involves everyone in the family, and often the whole community. Love, like a stone tossed into a lake, causes ripples to spread and contract, bringing conflict and well-meaning “help” from the people who care most.
This is for my brother, Pete. One day, he walked out of our house, yelling for our cousin, but I heard him call for “Shrimpo,” and Shrimpo he became for years. Pete, my little buddy, my baby in a way. Pete, a softness in my heart. I love you, brother.
Contents
Cover (#u583f235e-c137-5115-a154-23a2d5cfe7c7)
Back Cover Text (#uacd13ebc-329a-5849-915d-711c90dcab5c)
Introduction (#u6c5079e8-49b8-58f6-a1ed-194bd169c377)
Dear Reader (#ulink_ac570ad1-a91a-5687-8912-03a9b4ce9ccf)
Title Page (#u804d88d9-094a-5918-8c97-c9787f955328)
About the Author (#uc79d1982-b582-5738-bbcb-df200588ae56)
Dedication (#u7021d58f-8e7b-5249-a397-8cffc3ef6a62)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_43decfc7-3026-5e1e-92e7-1ee18631b441)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b7d66b26-9d78-5022-ad4a-1e786abb6764)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4c6a041b-476c-56a8-948a-bccb7e3ad9d4)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1dfcbc12-430e-53e6-9c8f-4db12d1a6f49)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a15cf826-eaba-512d-933e-353e8be9132d)
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)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_7c7a8fca-fcd3-5590-8808-a2910ea70d1f)
THANKSGIVING WAS HER favorite holiday because it meant getting away from the anger at her house and bathing in the love at her grandmother’s. Emma Candler turned her father’s SUV into the lane that ran between their house and her grandmother’s white Victorian homestead on Bliss Peak. Pale, thready, early-morning mist wound between the hardwoods and the pines, drifting to the spires and lights of the resort town below.
Emma parked in the gravel courtyard in front of Nan’s house. Jumping out, she checked her watch and peered down the driveway, down the mountain. Her fiancé had promised to come early, but his family drama often distracted Noah from his promises to her. His father, Odell, tended to choose the big days on the calendar to have his most dramatic meltdowns.
She grabbed her overnight bag, as well as an ironstone bowl of cranberry sauce and another of coleslaw.
If she’d known how to whistle, she would have. The holiday was always filled with Nan’s traditions of cooking and expressing thanks—even for their dysfunctional family. They would eat, then hike, and then eat some more. Pure joy.
As Emma hurried up the stone stairs to the wraparound porch, she noticed that the paint had started to peel. Come summer, she thought, she could help her grandmother hire someone to do the repairs or even do them herself. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she opened one side of the double front doors.
“Nan?” she called. “I’m here. Are you in the kitchen?”
The aromas of turkey and spicy pie wafted into the front hall. Emma hurried to the kitchen in the back of the house, where she saw pumpkin and squash pies sitting on the island. Other dishes in midpreparation littered the counter.
But no Nan.
Emma was pushing her own offerings into any crannies she could find in the fridge, when she heard the clomp of feet overhead and voices. Angry voices. She couldn’t make out the words or who the voices belonged to.
She stopped what she was doing and hustled up the back stairs.
From the doorway of the nearest bedroom, she saw her tiny grandmother gripping Odell Gage by the shoulders. His jeans were undone and his shirt was gaping open. “Get out of my house,” Nan said. “Are you both insane? Emma will be here any second. Pamela, I want my key back. You aren’t using my house to... Never again.”
“Louisa...” Odell stumbled, dragging Nan with him.
Emma couldn’t see her mother, Pamela, yet, but her grandmother’s frantic wrestling with a violent man made her rush into the room and plunge between them.
He backed up, his mouth open in surprise.
“Keep your hands off my grandmother,” Emma said. Movement behind him made her look over his shoulder and into her mother’s horrified face. Pamela Candler turned, yanking a sweater over her head. Emma felt sick as she looked back at Odell.
His laughter grated and his breath smelled of alcohol. “Don’t take this so seriously. Everyone in this Podunk town knows your mama needs a little fun.” He yanked his shirt around, the easier to button it. “That’s what I am. A little fun.”
“Get out of this house.” Emma pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as she and Nan followed Odell and her mother into the hallway, where the pair paused to adjust their clothing. Odell had just confirmed her worst suspicions about her own mother.
Nan curled a hand around one of her wrists. No doubt she meant to comfort, but the hallway was too crowded, and Emma too upset to calm down.
Odell turned to Emma and patted her shoulder. “This isn’t your problem, sweetheart. You just arrived at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Emma took a couple of deep breaths.
“Wait, honey,” Pamela said, her gaze plaintive as she edged closer. “Think about what you do next. Your father...”
“He deserves to be done with you!” Emma said. “Odell Gage, Mother? Odell? Is it because I’m engaged to his son, or was that just a bonus for you?”
“Don’t talk to your mom like that.” Odell’s temper flashed in his dull eyes and a corner of his mouth twitched.
“Dad.”
Emma gasped at the strangled voice. Noah stood on the landing, his face thinned with anger.
“What are you doing here?” Odell moved toward him, but Emma stepped between him and his son, her back to the stairs.
“No,” she said.
Odell looked her up and down, interested, amused.
“Emma,” Noah and her grandmother said at the same time.
“You’re not touching anyone else I love,” Emma said.
Laughing, Odell pushed past her, but their feet tangled. She felt herself falling. She heard her grandmother scream. The plaster ceiling and Odell Gage’s face twisted in front of her as they tumbled, and then sharp pain became nothingness.
She awoke in an ambulance. The EMT at her side didn’t bother to look at her, “Odell Gage said she threw him down the stairs and then lost her balance and fell with him. The guy probably deserved it, but he broke his leg before he hit the bottom, and then her grandmother had to pull his son off him.” The EMT shook his head. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“He deserved worse.” Emma faded into unconsciousness again. The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a treatment room, and Noah sat next to her bed, his face in his hands.
“How’s your father?” she asked.
He raised his head. “You’re awake,” he said with relief, but then his face hardened. “He’s fine. He was still so drunk, he collapsed more than fell. Are you in pain?”
She ignored the question. “The paramedics said your father claimed I pushed him. Do you think I did?” Emma asked.
“Who do you think I am?”
She sighed. “I’ve never known. I said I’d marry you because I loved you so much. I thought you’d show me you cared as much for me as you do for your mom, and your sister and brothers. But you keep me at bay, as if you’re afraid to.”
His eyes told her he was tired of the same old argument, the one they could never resolve.
She plucked at the stitching on her starchy hospital sheet. “I didn’t push your father, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“I saw what happened, but what were you thinking when you stepped between him and me?”
“That he’s done enough.” Her stomach roiled. “He has to stop hurting you and your brothers and sister, and he can’t lay another finger on anyone in my family.”
“You think this will stop him? You push him, he shoves back. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t testifying about adultery at their divorce trials and then leading them down the aisle as maid of honor at their wedding. He knows how to get under your skin.”
“We’d both be lucky if he divorced your mom, and my father finally got tired of Mother cheating on him.”
“Emma, how can you say that about me?” Emma looked up as her mother pushed through the partially open door and then shut it behind her. “Don’t worry. I’ve told your father you misunderstood what you saw, and Odell was only looking for Noah. I spent the night with my mother to help her get ready for today. Odell isn’t going to press charges.”
Emma shook her head. “Press charges against whom for what?”
“He’s saying you pushed him down the stairs. We know that’s not true, but he’s already managed to spread the story, and people like to talk. Now you get some rest, and maybe you’ll be able to come home tomorrow.”
With that, she was gone again, her breezy lies poisoning the air. The heart monitor at Emma’s side tapped out a hectic beat.
“She thinks she can stay with Dad after being with your father.” Emma closed her eyes as twenty-two years of family dysfunction replayed in her head. “I have to get out of this town.” She grabbed Noah’s hands. “Come with me. You can do your residency somewhere else. We can be married. I’ve waited for you so long, but I can’t breathe here anymore.”
“I can’t go.” It was the answer she expected. “My father will be more out of control than ever because of what happened today. My mother can’t protect herself, and he’ll try to punish my sister and brothers out of his sick sense of retribution. He’s a thug.” Noah shook his head. “I cannot go with you.”
“Owen is almost your age,” Emma said. “Maybe it’s his turn to protect them. And your mother should step up.” She pulled his hands to her face. “I’m begging you. I love you. You say you love me. Love me more than them, this once.”
“I do love you more than anyone. I just can’t walk away from the war zone at home.”
“It’s not your home anymore.”
“But I’m the one the others come to when they can’t stay in that house with him.”
“You’re supposed to be my place.”
“Understand, Emma.” He pressed his palms to either side of her head, his fingers tangling painfully in her hair. “I want to kill him for what he did to you, for what he’s done to all of us, but I have to find a way to help my family survive.”
“I’m leaving Bliss, Noah.”
“Stay. We can live it down.”
“If you don’t come with me, nothing will ever be right for us. Our plans will die. We’ll never be married. We won’t have children who know they’re loved. I can’t wait any longer for you to finally choose me.”
“Emma, come on. You’re not the only person who needs me. Give me a chance.”
“We don’t have a chance if we stay here. I’m getting out, with or without you, because if I don’t, I’ll be broken.”
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a7437131-43ad-56a3-859c-406301cfb0eb)
Four Years Later
“JUST CHECK ON him.” Suzannah Gage followed Noah from the back of her SUV as he carried a sack of goat feed into the garden shed. “Owen’s failed at rehab twice already. If he’s drinking again, he could fall off Louisa Candler’s termite-ridden roof.”
“It’s Emma’s roof now, Mom, and that’s your point. You think if you can send me over there, I’ll forget she left me and beg her to start over.”
“If I’d been strong enough to throw your father down our stairs, she never would have left.”
Noah shoved the feed into a shelf tall enough to keep it out of the goats’ reach. “She didn’t push him, Mom, and you shouldn’t joke about it. Most of the people in town think she ran away out of guilt.”
“She did me a favor,” Suzannah said. He glared at her, and she waved her hands as if trying to erase her words in midair. “I mean, watching her life fall apart made me realize I needed to fix my own. I do feel responsible for your breakup, and I wouldn’t mind helping you forgive each other.”
Noah grabbed the last bag of goat feed. “You live in a dream. Emma’s been traveling the world without a word to me, and you think we can get over our split with a little chat on her collapsing porch?”
“Don’t you want her back?”
He stood there, leaves blowing around his head, hardly feeling the weight of the bag in his hands. “No.” He’d tried to stop managing his family’s emergencies, and he had a full life, running his medical practice in town. He’d even begun to organize a committee to open a clinic that would provide more extensive care than he could in a one-man office. “I have my life. I want to be here. Emma made her life elsewhere. She never believed in me anyway.”
“Never believed in you?”
“Forget it.” He put the last bag of feed on the shelf and ushered his mother back into the crisp sunlight. “I’ll go see Owen, but don’t dream up any more ideas about Emma and me. Deal?”
“Deal.” She pulled the hatch down on her vehicle. “For now, anyway. You’ll go while he’s working? Not to see Emma, honest, son, but to make sure your brother’s sober when he’s working.”
“All right, Mom, but Owen is old enough to take care of himself, and I’ve had it with being my family’s keeper.”
“I know.” Her face wrinkled with worry. “Owen thinks I have no right to worry about him because I spent so many years letting your father treat us badly.”
Noah glanced from her to the inn she’d created out of their old farmhouse. Pale yellow, surrounded with white porches and landscaping that was his mother’s pride and joy, it bore little resemblance to the tumbledown wreck of a family home it had been.
“This place is like you,” he said. “Bright and shiny and new.”
“And it’ll last, as long as I don’t let a man like your father into my life.”
So she was capable of understanding his position. He wouldn’t go back to a woman who’d made him feel like he was never enough. He’d been torn between his family’s real need and Emma’s emotional insecurity about their relationship. He’d loved her, but never enough to suit her hunger.
Besides, everyone knew she was only staying long enough to repair termite damage to her grandmother’s house.
Bliss had never made Emma Candler happy either.
* * *
THE SCENT OF sawdust and new wood treated to discourage termites filled the house. Emma leaned her forehead into the screen on one of the wide, open windows, to watch her contractor, Owen Gage, on the lawn sawing lengths of wood to repair her wraparound porch. Down below, in town, the courthouse bell tower spiked above wispy clouds.
The clock bonged out three echoing chimes, and Emma turned back to her work. The house her grandmother left her had been empty for thirteen months. Dust that would have upset Nan covered everything. Emma had spent her first two weeks back home digging into the grime and neglect, eradicating loneliness that made her ache for Nan’s comforting, sensible company.
With every dish and each neatly folded linen, slightly musty from disuse, she heard her grandmother whisper, “Come home. Take your place. Grow up, girl.”
And every time she felt tempted, she remembered that Bliss had always felt like a suit of clothes that didn’t fit. She had no place here, and she’d finally grown enough to know her life was elsewhere.
Besides, Noah lived here. Each time she left the house, she risked running into him. She didn’t want to renew their unhappy relationship, but she still wondered why she’d never been enough for him. Why he’d never chosen her first.
It couldn’t matter anymore. She wouldn’t allow it. When a woman couldn’t find answers to such a simple question, her only peace would come from burying the question forever.
She carried the last tray of china cups from one of the cherry cabinets to the kitchen island. She surveyed stacks of Limoges Haviland China, and the jewel tones of Nan’s everyday Fiestaware.
Which stack to wash first? The last time she’d emptied the kitchen cupboards to clean the shelves, she’d been eight years old, and she’d stood on a red stepstool to pass crockery and china to Nan. The memory filled her with longing so keen she closed her eyes and felt the metal stool’s steps cutting into her bare feet.
Lift your face and look to the sky to keep from crying.
That was what Nan had always said.
Emma looked up at the plaster ceiling. An iron chandelier hung from a rose medallion in the center. Both were blurred by her tears. She hadn’t yet come to terms with the death of the one person who’d made her believe unconditional love existed.
She could almost see Louisa Dane, in a pale green housedress, her hair in tight, black curls, her movements swift and economical.
“Careful,” she’d said that long-ago afternoon when thunder had rumbled on the mountain, and wind had blown gusts of raindrops through the open windows. “I’ll be leaving these dishes to you, and you’ll pass them on to your daughter. You don’t know it now, but one day you’ll have some chicken or ham, a sweet potato or some coleslaw from these plates, and you’ll remember helping me with my spring cleaning.”
“But will I be glad?” Emma had asked, eager to get to the attic for a rendezvous with Nancy Drew or Judy Bolton, girl detectives whose books Nan’s mother had collected.
“More than you can imagine. This is a memory you need to press in your heart. I know because I loved my grandma, too.”
Emma picked up a rose-painted plate and held it to her chest as if she were hugging her grandmother. As if she still could.
The sound of sawing stopped, abruptly dragging her back to the present. Owen had no helper, so when he needed an extra set of hands he put hers to work.
“Why are you here, Noah?” she heard him ask.
She straightened, then set the plate carefully back on its stack.
The men’s voices continued, one filled with righteous anger, the other low and rich, bringing back hurtful memories.
“Cut the drama.” Noah’s voice rose above his brother’s.
“Well, what are you doing here?” Owen asked. “Can I offer you a beer?”
Emma’s stomach tightened, reminding her of every argument she’d witnessed in her own home and at Noah’s. Wife against husband. Brother against brother. Father against children. Her newly clean, white kitchen dimmed as she took a step toward the hallway.
“Beer jokes aren’t funny when I’ve picked you up staggering drunk so many times. I came because Mom asked me to make sure you’re sober enough to work on this house.”
As Emma left the kitchen and looked down the long hall to the front door, Noah stepped in front of the screen, his back to it. In his navy suit, he was out of place. His dark brown hair was shorter, curling tightly against his head, cut close above his ears. His back looked broader, his shoulders tense.
“I’m not drinking,” Owen said, with the futile air of a man no one believed.
Noah’s stillness was hard to read from behind.
“Even if you aren’t,” he said, “this isn’t a one-man job.”
“When it’s not, I put Emma to work.”
“Emma’s paying you, and you make her work on her own house?”
She hurried toward them, slowing only when Owen’s gaze veered over Noah’s shoulder, his eyes angry enough to light a fire.
“Stop,” she said. “I don’t need to be rescued, Noah, and Owen, we’re losing daylight minutes.”
She opened the screen and stepped onto the porch. Lean and controlled, Noah dropped his ice-blue gaze all the way to her bare feet and then dragged it back up her faded jeans and Doctor Who T-shirt, to her makeup-free face and pulled-back hair.
“Emma.”
She trembled as if he’d touched her, but he showed no sign that she’d ever mattered more than any homeowner who’d hired his brother.
Then he tugged at his tie, a sure sign of tension, and she released a breath. She didn’t want to be the only one pretending indifference. But the past was over. Time had swallowed it up, and she should be grateful she never had to worry about mattering to Noah again.
“Why don’t you come inside?” she asked. “Owen’s busy out here. We don’t need to disturb him.”
“Don’t bother, Emma,” Owen said. “I’m the reason he came. He’d like to breathalyze me. You don’t even figure in his plans.”
A gust of cool wind rustled through the changing leaves and brushed the mortified heat from her skin. She’d given Owen this job even though her father had suggested his drinking might turn her renovations into a disaster. When she’d left town, Owen had been a guy who liked to party. Now, he was as blunt as a hammer, with an alcohol problem that cloaked him in censure.
“One thing I don’t have to do anymore,” Emma said to both brothers, “is listen to anyone in your family argue. This is Owen’s place of business, and I can’t afford more labor hours while you two sort out your problems with each other.”
Noah nodded. “Right.” He turned to his brother. “I’ve given up being the family do-gooder. This was a onetime deal. Just drop by the inn and let Mom see you’re sober.”
His suggestion apparently lit a fuse. Owen’s work boots scraped through grit and sawdust on the porch planks as he came at his brother. Emma stepped between them.
“What do you think you’re doing, Owen?”
“I don’t need—”
“You need to calm down.” She turned her back on him, ignoring the rage shimmering around him.
Noah looked at her, his full mouth stretched thin and bracketed by deep lines.
Soon after she’d left, she realized she’d been one more needy burden to a guy who’d carried his family on his back all his life. But now he looked even more disillusioned than he had the night she’d walked away. Four years hadn’t made him any happier.
“Come inside, Noah, and I’ll give you coffee.” Talking might ease the awkwardness between them. She was tired of ducking down alleys and around corners to avoid him.
Noah nodded. He paused to put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. His fingers were splayed, long and sure.
And kind.
Emma stared at the veins beneath his skin, the ridges of flesh on his knuckles. He could say he wasn’t in the business of protecting his family anymore, but he was lying to himself.
Noah loosened his tie as he crossed the threshold. “What do we need to talk about?”
She glanced back at Owen, who was gulping coffee from his thermos lid. His eyes bore dark circles. He hadn’t shaved in the five days he’d worked for her, and his hands shook as if he’d electrocuted himself with one of his own power tools. If he was drinking the hair of some dog, she might drag him up to the roof and throw him off herself. As Owen poured another cup, she shut the door and willed herself into a state of detachment.
“We need to get some things straight,” she replied.
He was lean, but he made the foyer seem small, despite its being as large as most of the apartments she’d rented in her wanderings across Europe and Asia. He dissected her with his gaze as if she were another problem he needed to solve.
She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. Even with the windows open and a late-October breeze whipping fresh air into the house, Emma felt uncomfortably warm, too aware of the man. She turned down the hall, hiding her face from his intense gaze. Noah could read people in seconds and decide what came next.
Hence his skill at protecting his mother and siblings from their father.
After reaching the kitchen behind her, he walked around the island and took a couple of mugs from the long cabinet over the coffee maker. Just like the old days, when they’d visited her grandmother, who’d occasionally advised, but never judged or doubted that the guy from an abusive family belonged with the daughter of the town’s most scandalous woman.
“How long are you staying?” Noah asked.
“Gossip travels these hollows as fast as the breeze. I’m surprised no one’s told you I’m only here until Thanksgiving. The house should be finished by then.”
He poured the coffee for both of them and pushed one mug toward her. He turned back to the cabinet and took down sugar, then grabbed half-and-half from the fridge.
“So we don’t need to discuss anything. You’re just a visitor here. I’m never leaving Bliss. Case closed.”
“I don’t know if you think of me like most people here.”
He laughed, startling her. “Of course not. I was there, I saw everything, remember? Anyway, the very next day, I drove my father in his car to his brother’s in Kentucky, and then I took the bus back. He’s not welcome here.”
“I might have pushed him if he’d hurt my mother or Nan.” Or Noah. A piece of information she left in the past. “I’m not staying long, but I’ve dreaded seeing you.”
“No need.” Noah pulled at his tie once more. She must have imagined the tension she’d thought she’d seen in the movement. He seemed totally relaxed as he added cream to his coffee.
“We don’t owe each other explanations,” he said. “You left, and I stayed. That’s all we need to know.”
Then why did she feel as if she were testing an injury every time she saw him?
“I do wonder why you hired my brother,” Noah said.
“What?” If she meant nothing to him, why did he care? “Was I supposed to ask you before I hired him?”
“Answer me.”
She tried to see it through his eyes. “You think I might be using Owen to get at you?”
“Your father must have told you about Owen’s drinking. You came back for your dad’s wedding and Nan’s funeral. You must have heard about my brother.”
She rubbed the back of her neck as she remembered avoiding Noah at Nan’s service. She’d wanted to thank him for coming, but she hadn’t trusted herself. Her mother’s constant hunger for the next man had made her afraid Noah was her drug. There hadn’t been anyone as serious as him since she’d left.
“It’s an old habit,” he said, “trying to get my attention.”
Because he’d rarely focused it on her. “So you think I realized, after four years, I couldn’t possibly live without you, and then chose the one contractor who’d drag you to my home.”
“I just need to make sure you know that won’t work.” He looked straight at her, the kindness he’d shown Owen just as evident for her.
“Noah, I broke up with you, and I didn’t come back dying to worship at your arrogant feet.” Only, he wasn’t being arrogant. He was trying to let her down easy, just in case she needed letting down. The three years of their relationship had been an exercise in frustration she wouldn’t repeat for any reason. “I hired Owen to repair the termite damage to my house because his estimate was the one I could afford, and he has good references.”
Noah straightened the tie that seemed to be giving him so much trouble and drank from his coffee cup. “And we’re not getting involved again.”
“I only give my time now to people who deserve me,” she said. It would be true if any other man had mattered to her as much as Noah.
She had acquaintances, colleagues, clients in her website design business. No one who made her want to love again.
Noah took his mug to the porcelain sink she’d bleached to glowing perfection only that morning. “I should get out of here,” he said. “Why are you spring cleaning? Are you planning to sell?”
“It’s crossed my mind, but no. Nan just wouldn’t want me to neglect her belongings.”
“Yours now.”
“They’re still hers, but she’d hate the dust and grime.”
Owen, carrying a load of new pickets for the porch, stopped outside the open window and looked in. She shook her head, slightly.
Noah didn’t even look back. “Owen’s checking on you?”
“He’s still my friend.” Owen had always been like a brother to her. When she’d come back to town, they’d continued their friendship as if they’d been interrupted in midconversation. “You and I will have to work at being friends, but nothing’s changed between Owen and me.”
“Of course everything’s changed between us, Emma. You left, and you told me I could either come with you or we were through.”
“I thought we weren’t discussing this.”
“You need to know the truth. You’re obviously still hurt.”
“You give yourself too much credit.”
“I make a living out of seeing when people are in pain,” he said. “I never blamed you for leaving. I wanted to go with you. That night, I wanted to go more than you can imagine.”
For an instant she believed him, but instinctive insecurity took over and made her wary. Noah had pulled the mat from beneath her too many times.
“When my father shoved you down those stairs, I wanted to kill him. Instead, I had to drive him to another state and make peace with my mother for doing it. She was still in thrall to the abuse that went on in that house.”
His raw voice cut her. “Don’t,” she said.
Emma stared up at the iron chandelier. She’d wanted to go to the police once after Noah had picked her up, and she’d seen his black eye and a grazed jaw. But Noah had said they would take his brothers and sister and scatter them to different foster homes. He’d said at least he could hold his father off.
“When you left, Celia was only fifteen and Chad was thirteen. I couldn’t leave them. My mother was...” He brought himself up short, his survivor’s reticence taking over again. “She couldn’t handle her own life then.”
“You were almost out the door,” Emma said. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’re right about settling the past between us. If we do it now, then no matter when you return from now on, we won’t have to rake up these old coals.”
It was the right answer, but it still hurt, and she resented him for that. “I only came back to fix the house.”
Emma started toward the front door, but she didn’t have to urge Noah to leave. He was ahead of her by several steps. Memories rolled through her mind. Kisses stolen in this hall, his mouth eager, his hands gentle. Whispers broken off as they’d reached the foyer and the range of Nan’s acute hearing.
Now she watched as Noah gave a last look around the large, square foyer, at the crystal drop chandelier, the Sheraton console tables on which two Tiffany lamps flanked a bowl that held her keys and notes she’d written herself, the folder that contained Owen’s estimate.
Noah obviously knew he’d never see the inside of her home again. He reached for the glass knob on the front door.
Movement shadowed the long window beside the door, and he glanced through the beveled panes that scattered prisms of rainbow light on the wide-planked maple floor. Owen walked past, maneuvering another armload of white-painted pickets.
Noah nodded at his brother. “Let’s say he can’t get this work done right. Can you afford to have it redone?”
“He won’t let me down,” she said, instantly feeling guilty and foolish for the bitter words.
“I didn’t let you down. I took care of the people who needed me.” He dropped his hand from the doorknob. “I finished training, which meant that I could keep my family from starving or sleeping in the cold.”
Another series of images, imagined ones, shot through her thoughts. Noah’s mother cowering as his father hit her, Noah pushing between her and his enraged dad and the other terrified children. He’d made the correct choice.
“You’re right,” she said. “You never let me down.” She moved closer, ready to shut the door as soon as he went out.
Noah’s head jerked back, as if she’d surprised him. But he didn’t linger. He was out the door and crossing the porch before she knew it. She watched through the glass beside the door as he crossed the porch, then took the stairs with the athlete’s grace that had drawn her to him years ago. Opening his car door, he climbed in, gunned the engine and sped down the drive, his tires spewing gravel and dust.
Emma flattened her palms against the cool window. Her breath fogged the pane. Alone and confused in Nan’s safe, warm house, Emma shivered as if Noah had brought all the cold she’d ever known inside and left it behind.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_446ea1b3-8fe8-5985-ab63-c34f39ab754d)
“I APPRECIATE YOUR coming tonight,” Noah said to the rain-dampened group who’d arrived to hear him speak about the new clinic. “I expected the rain to keep some of you away. But I see it didn’t.”
There were general murmurs of agreement. His thoughts were on Emma, working on her laptop at a table just outside the library’s conference room. She’d barely glanced at him when he came in. Her eyes had widened and she’d looked back at her work. She’d set up a business while she was gone, building websites and creating social media platforms for clients. Maybe that work was difficult to do in her house with Owen sawing and hammering to repair the widespread damage her termites had caused both outside and within the house.
“I’ve distributed some information.” Noah held up a stack of pages. “As many of you know, I’ve been talking to the town council about building a clinic here in Bliss. I’ve ordered a financial study to anticipate costs versus profits. I’ve suggested several properties that might be appropriate. The council is not amenable so far, so I’ve come to you, neighbors and friends, residents who live here full time.”
“Would the town own the clinic?” a man in the back asked. He had a farm down the narrow dirt road from the inn.
“If the town provides funding, yes. I haven’t been able to interest a hospital in building here because of the council’s reluctance, but we need more medical care. I can give you an X-ray and draw your blood, but I have to send tests to a lab in Knoxville or Asheville. I don’t have the equipment here to complete the kind of work my patients often need.”
“You already have an office.” Maeve, who owned the local pharmacy, cut in. “How would you run the clinic as well?”
“I’ve included funding estimates for staffing. I’d take shifts in the clinic, but it wouldn’t be my office.”
“Why is the council against it?”
That soft voice came from the entry to the room, a voice from dreams he’d tried to stop dreaming.
He let no emotion cross his face. He must be good at that—she hadn’t seen how she’d affected him at her house. Despite his inconvenient continued attraction to her, he wasn’t going to let her drag him into the past.
He nodded at her, but then spoke to the room at large. She knew her father was in the mix of the council and opposed the clinic. “A variety of reasons. The first is that it doesn’t suit the council’s idea of the covenants set up when Bliss began to cater to skiing and tourism. A clinic is not high-end shopping. It’s not a picturesque eatery or a B&B that looks like a country estate. It doesn’t bring in the money that new business is required to furnish in this town.”
“Would it pay for itself, though?” the farmer at the back asked.
“Barely,” Noah said, “at least as far as we’ve done the estimation. “But we need an expert who can inform us about any possible tax burden. We’ll set up funding and build a trust from donations that will be as strict as any town covenant dreamed of being.”
“What do you want us to do?”
Noah glanced at Emma, whose troubled gaze rested on a face in the crowd. It was Megan, her stepmother, perched on a metal chair near the exit door. Megan, who appeared equally troubled, looked back at Emma. Some things hadn’t changed. Emma must have conditions for Megan to meet before she could accept her.
He’d been there.
He got back to work. “I’d like to set up a committee. Someone to search for a property the council can’t reject. Someone who has experience or an interest in fundraising. Someone who’s done PR.”
Some of the attendees stirred. Not Emma. He hated being so aware of her. Couples in the crowd spoke to each other. No one volunteered.
“Look.” He took off his jacket and dropped it over the back of his chair at the table beside the podium. “You all know me. I come from a family where violence and anger flourished, but care was—care was almost nonexistent. Maybe that’s why I’m a doctor. I want to take care of people. I believe that we can arrange for every family in this little town to have more immediate care. They deserve it.”
He tugged at his tie.
“If you have a skill you think would benefit the clinic, see me, call me, email or text. I need your help. We all need your help.”
Except Emma, he was thinking as he glanced back at the two Candler women. Megan was already slipping beneath the red letters of the exit sign, but Emma remained, one brow raised as if she were puzzled that Megan had left without speaking.
Just then a number of people rose from their seats and surged to meet him at the podium and volunteer their services. Startled, he took names and numbers and business cards and promises. By the time the last volunteer took her leave, he had a meeting set for the following week to assess their position.
Noah packed everything into his laptop case and cleared paper coffee cups and forgotten notes and his flyers from the tables and floor and gothic window ledges. He straightened chairs and took one last look before he turned off the light and walked out of the room. He tried not to look for Emma, but he failed.
He waited a moment too long to look away, for she lifted her gaze and pulled out her earbuds.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to help,” she said.
He’d never lied to Emma before, but he didn’t want her close. Sure, he’d dated other women in the time she’d been gone. Nurses where he’d done his residency. Skiers, who had no reason to stay in Bliss after their vacations. But Emma still affected him.
“I thought you’d probably rather not be on a committee with me. Besides, you won’t be here long.”
“I can set up a website, social media.” She glanced at her screen. “It all helps get your word out. Someone else can run it after I leave.”
“I’ll find someone to work with you if you’re willing?”
“I am,” she said and picked up her earbuds.
“Not getting along with Megan?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t, wishing she’d been quicker with her music.
“I don’t know her. It feels strange. She’s married to my father. They have this whole life I don’t know about. I don’t even know if I’m welcome.”
“She looks like she’s feeling the same. She’s nice, Emma. She didn’t move to town with an attitude, and she loves your dad. She wants him to be happy, which means she’ll welcome you into their new life.”
Emma’s natural response four years ago was a smile. He didn’t even realize he was waiting to see the sweet, open curve of her mouth until it didn’t come.
“I thought you weren’t looking after anyone except yourself these days.”
“You want to get along if we pass on the street, but you won’t try to be friends,” he said. “Good to know where we really stand.”
“Wait.” She stood, glancing around, but no one left in the library seemed interested in them. “I’m sorry. I do want to be friends, but I’m not sure how we manage that.”
“Neither am I,” he admitted, clamping down on his compulsion to take her hands in his and ease her fingers apart. “For a start, we could trust each other. I know you’re leaving. You know I’m staying. We both know our relationship ended four years ago. We have no ulterior motives.”
“You were talking about my dad in there. All those reasons to turn down the clinic, they’re stodgy and shortsighted.”
“If you mean I was speaking directly to you, I wasn’t. All the council members stand by the old covenants. You know there are towns in these mountains that feature bright lights and big noise. No one wants that here. I don’t want that here, but I want facilities that keep someone like my brother from having to drive almost two hours to get help for a work injury.”
“And you’ve explained that to the council?”
“No one in your dad’s position will listen.” Noah kept in mind the need to rein in his anger. He assumed part of the council’s rejection of his plan was that it came from him, the son of a man who’d put the town in a bad light every time he staggered out of one bar and into another, hitting on young female skiers and begging for change for his next drink.
Now Noah was in the position of begging, and the council seemed to enjoy every opportunity they had to say no to a Gage.
“I can talk to Dad,” Emma said.
“I’m not asking you to do that.” His voice rose, startling her, shaming him. The last thing he wanted was to be aggressive with a woman. In the middle of long dark, lonely nights he felt around his psyche for those instincts. He softened his tone. “I will if I have to, but not yet,” he said. “If you’d set up the media links we could use, I’d be grateful.”
“Okay. I’ll email the information to you. I can get your email address from Owen?”
He pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. “Now, about Megan,” he said.
“I know.” She rubbed her mouth. “I have to stop acting as if she swung into town just to pick Dad’s pockets.”
“You should probably thank her for being willing to live here with him. I hear she was kind of an influential voice in New York.”
“I heard socialite. I just didn’t believe anyone used that word anymore.”
He smiled because she couldn’t hide the bitterness she clearly disliked feeling. At least she felt safe venting to him. “I’ll look forward to your information. Thanks for doing this, Emma.”
“You’re welcome.” She picked up her own laptop case, and slipped his card into a pocket. He left while she was packing the rest of her things.
* * *
IN THE GRIP of an overgrown crepe myrtle she was trying to prune, Emma heard tires on the gravel drive. She twisted, hoping not to see Noah. She didn’t recognize anyone’s car sounds anymore. Struggling against the pull of the bony branches in her hair, she turned to set the shears on the ground and tried to unthread herself.
Too bad Owen wasn’t working today. He’d had some super-secret trip to a city in the big world.
A low-slung, silver vehicle turned on the gravel, slinging a few rocks upward. The driver was Megan, looking pretty sporty for a pregnant woman. She parked and climbed out, pushing her sunglasses into her dark brown hair like a headband.
As they eyed each other across the expanse of gravel, Emma didn’t know what to say. They’d been polite at the wedding about nine months ago, but neither had experienced step-relation love at first sight. And the other night, Megan had left without speaking to her.
Maybe because no matter how much Emma didn’t want to be her old, pushy, demanding, loveless, but hungry-for-love self, she couldn’t help the hostility she used for protection. Her father had someone new, and a new child coming.
Emma hadn’t expected life to stop while she was gone, but she hadn’t expected her father to find a whole new family that might be a bit more pleasant than she was.
Megan turned back to the still-open door of her car and tugged a big, canvas bag of greens out of the passenger seat. “Your father said you like kale.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you.” She crossed to her and took the bag out of her arms. The tension between them was almost palpable. It had to stop, Emma thought. She could stop it. “Do you want to come in for some coffee?” She glanced down at her stepmother’s swollen belly. “Or maybe herbal tea?”
Megan shut her car door. “I’d like that.”
Emma turned toward the house. Her father, Brett Candler, had met Megan at some bank do in New York, and less than a year ago they’d married. Her stepmother was barely nine years older than she was. Emma wanted to like the woman who’d made her father happy at last.
“Mind the construction area. Owen’s off today.”
“How much longer do you think he’ll be working here?”
“Until sometime around Thanksgiving.” Emma glanced back. Megan was holding her stomach and clinging to the newly sturdy handrail.
Emma stopped and held out her hand. “Let me help you.”
Megan hesitated for a moment. Then she took Emma’s hand. “Thanks.”
At the top of the stairs, they both released themselves from the oddly awkward handclasp, and Emma put on some speed to reach the kitchen. She eased the kale out of the bag and into the wide sink. “Take a seat. I’ll plug in the tea thing.” That was what she’d always called her grandmother’s clear plastic electric kettle. “It plugs in and heats water quickly. Nan loved hot tea when the weather turned chilly, and I’ve been drinking it, too, since I got back.”
“A way to be closer to her, maybe,” Megan said.
Emma measured her stepmother with a smile that felt stiff no matter how badly she wanted it to be natural. “Let me see what I can offer you.” She went to the cupboard and took down several different packets, as pretty as small square paintings. “Any of these look good to you?”
Megan pulled a purple packet from the array. “I’ll get the mugs.” She turned in a half circle. “If you point me to the right shelf?”
Emma did, and then she folded the canvas bag and set it at the end of the island. “It was nice of you to bring the greens.”
Megan nodded, setting the mugs on the counter. She came back to the island, playing with the corner of the teabag. “I wanted to talk to you, Emma,” she said.
Emma moved back to the counter. “Maybe I haven’t been as open with you as I should be.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Megan dropped the teabag. “But I love your father. I wonder if you believe that.”
Emma would have changed the subject immediately if her mind hadn’t gone blank.
“I asked your dad if I could bring the kale because I want to clear the air between us. You’ve been home for more than a week. I don’t know how long before you leave again, but your father doesn’t know how to invite you to our house—to your old home—without worrying I’ll be hurt. He thinks you stay away because you’re upset we got married.”
Emma reached into a cupboard beneath the island for the tea thing. She went to the sink to add water, then plugged it in. “I’d like to see more of Dad. Just ask me when you both have some time.”
Megan plucked her sunglasses off her head and dropped them on the folded bag. She crossed to Emma, her sudden purpose startling. “You have twigs in your hair.”
“Thanks.”
“Bend down.”
Though Megan was so close to her in age, her hands, easing the crepe myrtle out of her hair, reminded her of Nan and being cared for. Small moments that mattered because Nan had glowed with a kindness Emma couldn’t even begin to grasp.
But Megan wasn’t required to groom a testy stepdaughter.
“You know what?” Emma said. “There’s baby stuff in the attic here. Nan kept it. Apparently, every time I outgrew an item of baby equipment, my mom dragged it over here to get it out of her sight.”
Megan looked startled. Her mom must not have been like Pamela. Emma closed her eyes, then plastered on a smile. “Sorry. I’m trying to change, and that kind of talk was a step backward. Do you want to see if you like anything?”
“I have a crib and a few other things.”
Emma turned to look at her with a smile. “Throw me a tiny bone. I’m trying.”
“I mean yes,” Megan said. “I’d enjoy rooting around in your attic.”
“It’s cleaner than most of the downstairs, as I’m moving everything to make room for Owen to work. Apparently, we had termites almost everywhere, but the attic floor is safe. We’ll go up this way.”
The back stairs landed on the second floor and then again at the attic, the door of which opened as if Emma had just oiled the hinges. Which she had.
“Could we talk about what I said?” Megan asked.
“I’m not upset you married my dad.” Emma regretted the polite lie, walking ahead of Megan to show her to the far corner of the attic. Furniture was set up as if in a nursery. A high chair her great-great-grandfather had dented with his spoon, and a crib with totally unsuitable spindles. “I take that back. I’m a little upset.” She lifted the high chair’s table. “See, this works.”
“I do like that. I’ll need to make sure it’s still safe for a baby.”
“Good idea. I didn’t want Dad to live alone the rest of his life. I thought he’d find some lovely, stable woman.”
“More his age?” Megan’s laugh was gentle. “But I am stable. I can get you references.”
Emma laughed with her. “It’s just odd. You’re practically my age. He didn’t tell me you were pregnant until I came back.”
“So I heard. He burst out with it as soon as the exterminator turned his back while they were showing you the termite damage here.”
“Dad and I share a pretty strong tendency toward clumsiness.” Emma moved on to a rocking horse her father had painted dark green for her. “I remember when he put this mane and tail on. The original was bedraggled and gray.” She stroked the fine, honey-brown strands. Her choice of color. “I called her Miriam, and I braided for hours and hours. If you have a girl, she’ll love Miriam, too.” Emma turned the horse and dragged it toward Megan. “I feel disloyal toward my mother if I accept you, which is odd, since she and I are still on tense terms. I’m sure you heard what happened before I left for Europe.”
“I’m sorry. I have heard.”
Emma tugged at the rocking horse’s mane, braiding automatically.
Megan shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “But your mother’s your mother. You can’t help loving her.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more decent to you.” Emma meant the apology. She dropped Miriam’s braid and faced Megan full on. “Do you want anything you see?”
Megan appeared not to hear. “Emma, I hope we can be friendlier from now on.”
“I’ve been wary since I met you. I didn’t realize how much I’d cut you out until you left the clinic meeting without speaking to me. People around here think I’m—”
“I don’t pay any attention to what they think.” Megan reached over to Miriam and began to rock her. “Though I’m sorry to tell you, I enjoy the crazy stories. Backyard stills and fights on stairs and pranks on tourists.”
Emma relaxed her guard a little more. “The tourist pranks are more just putting on a show for them. Folks like you come down here from New York, expecting hayseed. There’s a moment in the life of every teenager in Bliss when she must offer the tourists a show.”
“I never expected hayseeds. The teenage populace around here is a little defensive, though.” Megan also seemed to relax. She pointed. “What about that bookshelf?”
Emma had once stored her books in it. The pale sage paint was peeling and scratched. “I could redo it for you if you want it.”
“I’ll take you up on that, and I’d love the high chair and Miriam.”
“Your baby can rename her if she wants.”
“My little girl,” Megan said, rubbing her belly. “Our little girl, really. Brett’s and mine and yours, if you want to be part of her life.”
Emma stared at her stepmother’s stomach. “My baby sister,” she said. “I’ll come back when she’s born.”
“Maybe you’ll still be here. She’s due mid-December.”
Emma felt the tug of home, of this house. Of love she might find if she stayed. Or love she might lose because she’d never been herself until she’d left this town, and coming back, she was already falling into old habits. “I won’t be here in mid-December.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4b664a04-471d-54a0-849f-0ce6cd0fe8db)
THE ONLY GYMS in Bliss were located in the resorts on the mountain. Many of them opened their doors to local residents, and Noah chose the one with the largest heated pool. The morning after the meeting, when he’d finished working out with free weights, he changed for a swim.
The second he kicked off, his breathing settled into a rhythm and his body took over. He heard only water, saw only pool and the ceiling overhead. The laps he swam healed him. He trusted these mornings to shut out the world and his discomfort in it.
No one here needed anything from him. He had complete control. And propelling along the lane was like flying.
It was better than sinking into a bottle of vodka—an instinct he feared—or using his fists to pound the town council into working for the good of their constituents. Such thoughts drove him to swim longer, faster.
Today, he didn’t have to think. Emma, leaning against the library conference room doorway, confused, interested, troubled about Megan, flashed in his mind and refused to leave. Behind that image, he saw his first mistake: accepting her help. He’d sworn he’d stay away from her. He’d even argued with his mother about checking on Owen simply because he’d dreaded the possibility of seeing Emma, fearing the encounter would bring all his old rage back to the forefront.
When she’d left town, he’d nearly broken his jaw in his struggle to repress his anger at her ultimatum—that he could either throw his life and plans away to follow her, or she would leave without him.
That moment, when he’d realized she had no compassion for anyone except herself, had changed him. He didn’t want to love a woman like Emma, who’d used walking away as a weapon. She had problems with her mother, who loved too much, and her father, who’d been a cold fish until Megan had thawed him.
Noah swam on, completely happy to drown his feelings.
Then he heard a splash. Deana, who handed out towels at the pool entrance, had warned him a few weeks ago that a new swimmer had joined the pool, but Noah had evaded that company until today. He kept his head down.
* * *
“WHY IS YOUR hair so wet?” Brett Candler asked as Emma climbed out of her car in front of Baby Bliss, a store that sold fancy baby goods at exorbitant prices. “Where did you find a pool this time of year?”
Emma hugged her father one-armed, the Candler hugging maneuver that required only a moment’s contact. “Do you get any exercise at all, Dad?”
“Don’t tell Megan, but I’ve started running the lane between our house and your grandmother’s.”
“Why not tell her? She’d probably be glad you’re running.”
“Well, it’s more like odd raceZwalking,” he said. “And I don’t want her to see that.”
“I’ll keep my relationship advice to a minimum, Dad, but she might like to odd-race walk with you. In fact, I would, too.”
“You can. I don’t mind if you see me struggling. I’ll text when I’m heading your way in the evenings, but the day I’m breaking land speed records, I’ll fill her in. For now, she thinks I’m checking the fencing around both houses.”
“I think she’s brighter than that.”
Brett held the door to the shop for her. “She tells me you had a good talk.”
“She was honest and sweet and invited me to stop being a jerk. I’m accepting her invitation.” Emma glanced up, catching her father’s stunned expression. “She didn’t put it that way, Dad. Don’t you know her?”
“For a second, you made me wonder if you’d argued with her.”
“I love a little drama, but I’d prefer to stop having it with people.” Emma avoided her father’s anxious gaze. She had to make things right with Megan. She studied the Baby Bliss items. “What about a stroller, Dad? Megan said you have a crib.”
“A stroller. I don’t think we have one of those.”
“What colors?” There were bright ones, girly ones and basic color wheel options.
“She’s using a lot of green in the nursery.”
“Green.” Emma crossed to the wall where strollers hung in rows. “You don’t think she’d rather choose her own?”
“Aren’t they all pretty much alike?”
They looked like armored field equipment. “I guess. She can always return it for something she’d prefer.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed the nearest dangling wheel. “How about this one?”
“It’s more than the thought that counts.” Emma perused the selection. “You’re having a girl, but pink would probably get dirty. Maybe I could get brown with accents of pink.” She looked at one mostly covered in brown, with bubbly-looking cats in bows scattered across fields of pink on the seat and the underside of the roof.
“That’s too expensive,” Brett said. “You can’t spend that much money on us, Emma.”
“Megan needs to know I’m on board with the baby.”
“You’re trying now. It’s all I ask.” He sounded uncomfortable, and she looked him right in the eye, so he’d know she wasn’t pretending.
“Liking Megan isn’t an effort.” Getting over her own don’t-abandon-me, clinging instincts was where she always got stuck. “Megan’s nice, and she loves you.”
His smile changed him into a person she’d never known, a relaxed, happy person. “I know she does,” he said. “No matter how much gossip she endures about our stereotypical May-December romance.”
“You aren’t stereotypical. Megan came here instead of trying to lure you to New York. She has to work like any outsider for trust. I didn’t show up to support you, and I doubt Mother has been a cheerleader for your relationship.”
“I don’t see much of Pamela, and Megan sees less of her. Not that I don’t think Megan could handle her. We just have no reason to visit with her.”
“I haven’t seen her yet either.” And there was no reason to discuss her mother with her father. She pointed at the gamboling kittens. “I’m thinking this one. Do you like it?”
“I’m not letting you buy that. It costs more than my first car.”
Most of the shops in Bliss sold goods more likely to be found on Rodeo Drive. Bliss’s architecture was protected in its pristine, nineteenth-century origins, but pricing was always right up-to-date.
Emma slipped a card from the Bliss Baby-decorated plastic pocket beneath the carriage. “You’re not that old, Dad, and Owen discovered that someone had insulated the back bathroom walls downstairs. The insulation was neither toxic to humans nor irresistible to termites. So I have mad money.”
“That you should put in the bank.”
“My account is healthy enough.”
“Is Owen overcharging you on anything?”
She glanced at her father as they approached the checkout counter. “Did you hear me say he’d saved me money?”
“He didn’t save it. Someone simply completed that work, so he didn’t have to charge you to redo it. I wonder when your grandmother had it done.”
Emma’s father had never been at ease with his mother-in-law’s lack of need for his advice.
“Owen didn’t have to tell me. I’m so clueless he could have double-charged me for insulation I don’t need.”
“I’d better check out this work he’s doing.”
“I wish you would, actually. You renovated our house when I was in elementary school. You know what to look for.”
“Then you are concerned.”
“Not with Owen. With my lathe and plaster—whatever amount the termites couldn’t stomach.”
“I’ll come. I feel guilty I didn’t force you to let me take care of important issues like your termite treatment on that house while you were gone.”
“That wasn’t your job, Dad. I should have hired someone to manage the property.”
“I should have just taken over. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, except Louisa never really appreciated my finer qualities so I didn’t feel welcome at her house.” He shrugged. “I did hear some gossip the other day.”
Emma closed her eyes, sighing. An overly curious farming neighbor had always kept himself up-to-date on Nan’s doings, too. “Something to do with Hank Kuchar hearing Noah’s car grind up my driveway?”
“He thought I might want to know that the jerk who jilted you was dropping by early on a Saturday.”
“I jilted Noah, Dad.”
“After his father threw you down the stairs and then blamed it on you?”
“He didn’t throw me. He was too close to Nan, and we both tumbled down the stairs. But I am glad you take up for me when you hear that lie.”
“I told you not to leave then. People thought you started that whole mess at your grandmother’s. On Thanksgiving morning. That was a scandal that took some chewing.” He took the card from her hand. “Why did you hire Owen Gage to work on your house? You’re not trying to catch Noah’s attention again, are you?”
She shouldn’t have come back, even for a visit. “If there’s a worst to think around here, someone will think it. Noah assumed the same thing, as if I’d repeat my worst mistakes. I can manage my life without you or Noah trying to point out where I go wrong. I can hire my own contractor and buy my own stepmother a stroller for my half sister.”
Brett caught her sweater sleeve, pulling her to a stop in the wide, not so crowded aisle. “Don’t call your sister that. Megan’s hoping you’ll be able to accept her without the half or step, or whatever it is.”
Emma brought her hand to her father’s to reassure him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. She will be my sister. My whole sister. I’m looking forward to spoiling her.”
“How will you do that if you don’t stay?”
They reached the counter, and she pushed the little Take-Me card across the counter. A woman in clothing and jewelry Emma wouldn’t be able to afford if she sold her termite-ravaged house for an unexpected windfall ran a scanner over the price tag. She also took Emma’s credit card, bringing it close to her face to inspect it.
“I’m supposed to ask for a peek at your ID, but as long as you’re with Councilman Candler...” she said, her simpering even more offensive for its underpinning of sincerity.
Even her father stiffened. Bliss had more than its share of good, honest mountain people, but it also offered work to plenty of stuffed, appearance-conscious shirts.
“This is my daughter, Mrs. Link.”
“I’d heard she’d left...” The woman broke off as if she’d realized she shouldn’t share everything she’d heard. “Speaking of which, my husband told me Dr. Gage presented his updated proposals to the council again. When will that arrogant man learn?”
Emma kept her expression neutral. Even her father’s mouth looked pinched. Noah could be arrogant, but this woman was just stirring up trouble. She was the sort of person Emma had dreaded meeting when she came back to the little town, focused on creating appearances to bring in big tourist money.
Emma signed her receipt as a purple-aproned clerk brought the new stroller, already unfolded and ready for service, to the front of the store. Emma took the handles and maneuvered it through the shop doors.
“I feel their eyes on me.”
“You’re fine.”
At her dad’s Range Rover, they had to consult helpful drawings on the carriage’s tags to learn the mysteries of folding a stroller. At last they managed and hoisted it into the back of his vehicle.
Emma took her seat beside him in the front. “What’s that woman’s problem with Noah?”
“Why do you care? You’re over the guy.”
“I went to the meeting he held at the library last night.”
Her father turned to face her. “Why would you do that? You’re not even staying.”
“It’s my home. I pay taxes on Nan’s house. I have a right to speak. Or listen.”
“But don’t get involved. You’ll make us a spectacle.”
“Again?” she asked.
“That wasn’t your fault. I’m not saying you caused a scandal when you left. You needed to escape this place.”
“But are you withholding your approval of the clinic because of what happened between Noah and me?”
“Of course not.” He started the car and turned toward Main Street. “Not anymore, anyway.”
“Why would you? I’m the one who delivered an ultimatum and left town.”
“Because Noah could not put you first. Maybe you were just engaged too long.”
“Considering he was still in school, I’d say not, but I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Then we’ll clear the air about the clinic. We on the council have to live with the covenants the town council of 1962 established. They set architectural standards, and they also left a standard for the kinds of businesses we can accept and still live up to the premise we offer the outside world.”
“Premise? You mean that this is a winter wonderland where nothing more dangerous than a sprained ankle occurs? That’s wrong. We’ve had heart attacks and head injuries. We’ve had mothers who’ve lost their children, and children who’ve lost parents.”
“Don’t try to manipulate me. More citizens are on our side than Noah’s.”
“I’m guessing not one of your bunch has had a truly sick child or run afoul of a chainsaw.”
“Or eaten a meal that resulted in food poisoning. We’ve heard it all, Emma.”
“Have you thought of Megan?”
“If my wife had an emergency due to her pregnancy, I’d buy a helicopter if I had to.”
“Nice, Dad. Will you do that for Guy Coake’s wife? I noticed she’s pregnant.”
She’d almost accidentally rammed the woman with a grocery cart. Josie Coake, wife of the best pancake chef in town, had been sampling a dubious-looking, bagged pickle.
“Let it go,” her father said.
Josie was the type of medical case who’d appeal to Bliss’s voting public. Her husband cooked all hours, and she stayed home to care for their children. They’d sold their second car to free themselves from the payment. They wouldn’t be buying a helicopter.
“People like Josie are lucky Noah stayed back here to practice,” Emma said.
“He always knows what to do for a family in need. You were the only one who couldn’t depend on him.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not staying.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I got angry,” Brett said.
“I know how that works. As you said, let it go.”
* * *
“OWEN, I SHOULDN’T be out here.” Emma looked over the Halloween festival booths half set up on the courthouse lawn. “I haven’t been doing much in town. I bought a stroller. I work at the library and coffee shop.”
“Just occupy yourself. They need help with the judging stand. I won’t be long. Look—over there—Marcy Harrigan with the balloons. I’ll bet she could use some help.”
“But what if she thinks I shoved your father down Nan’s stairs?”
“Tell her to mind her own business. I find that works well.”
“I’d rather walk home and finish cleaning the kitchen cabinets.”
“I’ve seen you work with tools,” Owen said. “We don’t have Noah’s clinic yet, and I don’t trust him to do stitches on you.”
“Funny.” She had no choice. She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll do it.”
“I can introduce you to Marcy.”
“I’ve known her since kindergarten,” Emma said, marching toward one of the old friends who had plenty of reason to think the worst of her. Emma’s mother had preyed on Marcy’s father, too.
She wove between running children and snatched up blowing papers. The papers she slid into the rubbish barrel beside her former friend.
“Emma,” Marcy said, “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Just back to do some repairs on my grandmother’s house.”
“Good. Then you’ll be leaving again?”
Emma felt a pang. Almost automatically, she wanted to mutter her standard, “I didn’t shove him,” but Marcy might have their respective parent’s affair on her mind.
“You can’t help that your face reminds so many people of such bad times,” Marcy said. “You wouldn’t believe the talk when you left town. Not the kind of talk that leads tourists to believe this is a happy place.”
“Yeah.” Emma glanced back at Owen, who offered her a thumbs-up. She didn’t have to live in the past, even if her face took other people back there. “Owen thought I might be able to help you.”
“I do have more important things to do. Let me show you how to use this helium tank.”
“Marcy, why do you care about me showing my face around here?”
“Do you know how many of our fathers your mother slept with? Flirted with? Drank with? How many of our mothers came close to leaving those fathers? The only good thing your family ever did happened the day you shoved Odell Gage down those stairs. The rest of the fathers in town wised up and stopped playing around with Pamela Gage.”
“I didn’t shove— Why does that mean I’m not welcome back?”
“It was a soap opera. You pining after Noah, blaming him because he couldn’t control his father and mother. It was ridiculous.”
“And it made for bad press?”
“The only thing worse than no snow is a story about a domestic dispute. It puts people off.”
“No matter what the real story might be?”
Marcy stretched a balloon over the tank’s nozzle. “No one cares about the truth. We just don’t want that sort of thing to happen again. Your mother works in the basement at the courthouse. Hardly anyone sees her. Your father is blissfully happy. Noah’s even stirring up worthwhile trouble. You come back to town, and how long is it till you start chasing him again? Then his guard goes down, and his father sneaks back. It could be a nightmare. I’ve seen Odell lurking around a couple of times in the past few months. Like you, he must think the coast is clear.”
Emma stared at her. “This is insane.”
“You shouldn’t have asked. It’s what I think. You were as much one of your mother’s victims as I was. Why do you want to come back?”
“I don’t, but you’ve made up this whole scenario, and you’re willing to treat me as if it’s true?”
“If you aren’t going to live here, you can’t prove you’re trustworthy. You’re just someone who owns a great house on the mountain, but you don’t want to live in it.”
“And if I did come back, I’d be a troublemaker?”
“You were before.”
She hadn’t been so much a troublemaker as someone who attracted trouble. She didn’t know how many times she’d cried her way home because Noah had abandoned her for a family crisis. He was old enough to handle his life. She hadn’t been.
“Show me the balloon thing again.”
“I can get someone else.”
“I said I’d do it.” For a second Emma was tempted to shout that she’d stay and prove her fellow citizens were just killing time with soap operas about her life. But Marcy had skirted the truth, and Emma didn’t want to be part of those nearly true stories again. It didn’t mean she couldn’t act like any other Halloween-festival volunteer. A normal person who lived in Bliss, Tennessee.
Until Owen finished the work on Nan’s house.
Marcy showed her again before she went on to her more important errands. Emma had a few false starts, but she concentrated on her work and ignored any sign of curiosity from her former friends and neighbors.
She slipped an orange balloon over the nozzle on the tank. As she activated the pump, the balloon expanded, and a cat swelled to arching life on its side. The trick was getting the thing off and tying a ribbon around it. She had a pile of balloons to finish before Owen was ready to leave for his paying job. At her house.
Peter Franklin, toddler son of another volunteer, kept leaving the petting zoo set up on the courthouse lawn, to help Emma collect runaway balloons that popped off the nozzle before she could tie them. Emma wrestled the cat balloon into submission and started a black one decorated with a happy, non-threatening ghost.
She whipped it off the nozzle, held it to her stomach and roped it with a long length of ribbon.
“That ghost isn’t scary,” Peter said. “We aren’t babies, you know.”
“You have a baby sister,” Emma said. “Your mom told me so the last time she asked you to stay inside the petting zoo.”
He ignored her less than subtle reminder. While she wouldn’t let the little runaway escape, the last thing she needed was Peter’s mom accusing her of putting a kindergartner to work.
“My little sister has a ghost of her own. Mom pretends it’s an imaginary friend, but Becca and I talk to Sebastian all the time.” He scratched his nose. “Becca tells me what Sebastian says.”
“That’s pretty creepy. How many other Sebastians do you know?”
“Just Becca’s. He’s pretty bossy. Like you.” Peter offered her a purple ribbon as a shadow crossed her arm.
Emma turned and froze, but Peter held up his arms to Noah.
“Hey, kiddo.” Without so much as a glance at Emma, Noah scooped Peter up and deposited him inside the fence where a goat immediately took a gentle nibble of his hair. “Your mom says you love the goats and llamas.”
“Llamas spit.” Peter stopped and gathered some saliva in his mouth. “Like this,” he said with an impressive display. Emma barely kept herself from leaping out of the line of fire, but Noah stuck like glue to the tall, leaf-strewn grass, and Peter stuck out his chest. “My dad taught me.”
“Your dad?” Emma looked around for the missing father. So many new people had come to Bliss in the past few years.
“Ted Franklin. He’s deployed,” Noah said, “for the second time. He went first the week after Peter was born.”
“He isn’t home much,” Peter said, looking strong, sounding wistful.
“I say we have a spitting contest right here and now,” Emma said. “So you’ll be in practice when he gets home again.”
Peter’s tiny fist shot into the air as he yelled “Yes!”
Noah stared at Emma as if he’d never seen her before, but he offered Peter a fist bump. Emma considered him brave for touching the little guy’s hand if the boy practiced his spitting skills at all.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_0cea90e7-b10d-5f6c-b2d1-df27fbc87db8)
“YOU HAVE HIDDEN skills,” Noah said as Emma watched Peter run off with his mom.
Emma had changed. He tried to imagine the young woman he’d known and deeply loved being carefree enough to throw herself into a spitting contest. He offered her a wet paper napkin he’d obtained from a wary volunteer, who’d avoided touching his hand.
“Oh, I could have won.” Emma wiped her face thoroughly, her smile a soft, sweet invitation to come closer. “I just wanted Peter to have good news for his dad when he comes home.”
Noah longed to ask how she’d learned such surprising playfulness, but the conversation and the afternoon had already revived feelings he didn’t want to feel. He’d never been enough for her. She’d never realized he was carrying his entire family on his back. She didn’t know he still awoke in the night, ducking his father’s fists.
Or that sometimes those fists were his in nightmares. When he was frustrated with the council. Or worried about Owen’s drinking, their younger sister, Celia, balancing between the next great party and the scholarship she couldn’t afford to lose, and finally, Chad, who confused the temper that eked out of him in his high school halls for the aggression on the field that made him a much-scouted football player.
Noah hadn’t been able to hide everything that happened at his house before, but he’d tried to protect Emma. He’d dreaded her pity more than anyone else’s. He still didn’t want to see that look in her lovely green eyes.
He focused, crawling out of his troubling thoughts. “You were in no danger of winning.”
She searched his face. “Noah, are you all right?” She touched his arm. Her hand was familiar, small but strong, her touch, less clinging, more comforting.
He nodded, not daring to speak for fear he’d expose how much she still affected him. She’d wanted him her way or no way at all. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
But no way had worked well enough for the past four years.
“We can be like this,” she said. “Instead of angry with each other or wary, we can be real friends.”
He stared at her hand. “So we don’t have to discuss anything else.”
“Like feelings,” she said with a wry laugh, and she turned back to her post at the helium tank, dismissing him.
* * *
SHE SHOULD HAVE known Noah was only pretending for Peter.
When they’d been engaged, she could have been his support, his helpmate. She would have listened to all the situations he kept bottled up, if only he’d shared them.
But he’d been closed off, unable to share happiness or pain. She’d lingered at the edges of his love, until those little tastes of happiness had left her starved.
“Hey,” Owen said behind her. “I saw Noah. Was he harassing you?”
“Never,” she said. “Can you drop me off at home? I think it’s too late for any more work on the house tonight.”
“Yeah, sure.”
As soon as she was back inside her house, she locked the door behind her. She leaned her head against the thick, solid oak.
She was safe. Here, where Nan’s love still lingered, warming the corners and the open spaces, safety waited for her to call upon it. She dropped her things on the tufted bench and scurried to the kitchen to plug in the tea thing and start dinner.
She had Nan’s tomato soup in the freezer. All these years, and Emma still didn’t know how to divide the components to cook for one. Nan’s recipes were built to feed a family.
She set the dining-room table for one and chose a bottle of wine from the creepy basement where Nan had installed shelves along one stone wall.
It was like sitting down to eat with her grandmother. Except when she poured one glass, she had no one to toast; no one to tell she was glad to be home, but was afraid coming home had been a mistake. Owen could have done the work and reported his progress to her father.
A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Clutching her napkin, she went to answer it. She was so in tune with every memory of Noah and each new thing she’d learned about him, she recognized his navy-suited arm in the window beside the door.
On the one hand, she couldn’t face any more of his bewildering memories of their past, or his refusal to discuss it. On the other hand, she didn’t want to talk any more about the things they couldn’t fix.
She simply didn’t understand the emotions that racked her from just being in this town.
She opened the door. “Noah? Something wrong?”
He looked her up and down. “Owen told me I’d treated you badly, and I should apologize.”
“Since when does he tell you what to do?”
“Since I’ve assumed he might be right.”
“Maybe we are incapable of sorting out what’s always been wrong between us. Maybe we don’t need to.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
“Let’s celebrate your absolutely correct decision with a bowl of soup and some wine. I could even dig up a grilled cheese if you want.”
“Why are you here in Bliss, when being here makes you unhappy?”
“Why have you stayed in Bliss when staying tortures you?”
He bent his fingers and scraped his nails over his forehead. She wanted to grab his hand and make him stop hurting himself.
Finally, he dropped both hands to his sides, flexing them into fists. “You’re the first person who’s noticed.”
“Because I spent so much time trying to figure you out.”
“I was always exactly what I said, torn between wanting to be with you and trying to look after my family.”
Emma turned toward the kitchen. “I was never used to trusting anyone. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t tell truth from a story I thought you’d just made up.”
“So you believe me now?”
She looked back at him, shrugging out of his jacket. His face, in rest, was still taut. His eyes kept secrets.
“No,” she said.
“Talking really makes things better between us.”
“Nothing has to get better because I’m only here until your brother makes my house all better. Do you want a sandwich?”
“Yes, please.”
He came with her and opened the fridge, taking cheese from the deli bin. As Emma warmed the soup, Noah sliced cheese. She took bread from a tin decorated with a couple in WWII-era sailor suits.
“Let me do this,” he said. “Your soup is getting cold.”
Nan had never possessed a microwave, so he’d have to use the stove, but Noah could take care of himself. “Fine,” she said.
Another knock at the door caught her before she reached the dining room. “This will be Owen,” she said, “unless he called my father.”
“You’re good,” he said. “I’m betting on Owen. He wouldn’t rat me out to your dad for bothering his little girl.”
She grimaced, opening the door.
“Just making sure you two aren’t at each other’s throats.” Owen came inside without asking. “Something smells good.”
“Owen needs a sandwich and some soup, Noah.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you really okay?” Owen asked in a lowered tone.
“Fine. He won’t talk about anything that’s real. I’m fed up with begging. Situation normal. Come on through to the dining room.”
Noah stepped into the hall. “Owen,” he said, “everything okay?”
“I’m still sober.” Owen grinned at them both, remarkably content. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”
Emma walked toward the dining room. Noah went back to the kitchen.
“I’m the only one who likes some of the old times,” Owen said, left on his own.
Emma slipped through the darkened living room to take the wine back into the kitchen. Noah looked up.
“Why are you doing that?”
“I don’t want to tempt him.”
“He has to learn to live in the world.”
She wanted to snap, “You never have,” because he was so content to hide out on a mountain in Tennessee. But that would have been lashing out with a temper she wanted to control. Her desire for such a petty attack disappointed her. She’d hoped to come home and be normal.
“Owen?” she asked, raising her voice. “Do you want water? Soda? Tea?”
“Water’s fine, but you can bring back that wine bottle.”
“We’ll all have water.”
“And avoid the problem?” Noah asked. “Owen can’t.”
“It is like old times. You’re still taking care of your little brother.”
“I notice you are, too,” Noah said. “What’s up with that?”
“Sometimes I really hate you.”
Because despite everything, if she had feelings for a Gage brother, it was always going to be Noah. But he’d apparently be just as happy to foist her off on Owen.
* * *
“DR. GAGE, COULD YOU help us?” DeeAnn Franklin hurried up to him as he walked to his car on the evening after his dinner party with Owen and Emma. DeeAnn held her son, Peter, in her arms. “His ankle is swollen. He was climbing over that fence again.”
“Hey, Peter.” Noah took the boy from his mother’s arms and set him down on a bench just as the courthouse clock tolled five.
DeeAnn took off her son’s shoe and sock and rolled up his pant leg. Noah examined Peter’s ankle in the growing coolness as the sky darkened.
“No, don’t.” Peter pushed Noah’s hand away, tears leaking from his eyes.
“You’re fine, buddy.” Noah patted Peter’s leg. “I have a bandage in my car.” He glanced at DeeAnn. “Or the office, whichever you prefer.”
She looked doubtful. She waited tables at the pancake house out near one of the chalet lodges.
“My computer’s out.” Noah straightened. “I couldn’t bill you if I wanted to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to pay you,” she said in a voice so sad her son looked up at her, puzzled.
Noah shook his head. “I’m the one with the problem. Why don’t we wrap this, and then I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m dying to have pancakes for dinner.”
“That I can take care of,” she said. “I happen to know a chef who’ll make you unbelievable pancakes.”
“We have a plan.” Noah scooped Peter up again and turned to find Emma climbing out of her own car in front of them at the curb.
Her face and throat were stained pink, as if seeing him made her feel self-conscious. He didn’t let himself consider why heat seemed to be crawling up his skin, too. The cool breeze blew Emma’s curls around her face, and the movement broke the invisible cord that bound them to each other across those few feet of ground.
“DeeAnn, you remember Emma?”
DeeAnn looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but there.
Emma thrust out her hand to shake. “We spoke yesterday, when Peter was at the petting zoo.”
“I didn’t recognize you then. Glad you’re home.” DeeAnn returned the shake briefly, then put her hand on her boy’s leg. “This is my son, Peter. Peter, this is Miss Emma.”
“I know her,” Peter said. “She spits almost as good as me.”
Taken aback, DeeAnn nodded. “I can’t really believe that. Your dad won’t like to hear it’s that close.”
“We had a contest. I beat her, Mom.” He pointed at Noah. “And him, too.”
“Oh, great.”
Noah found the woman’s obvious unease oddly uncomfortable. Was she thinking of the rumors about Emma and his father? From four years ago? Emma was right about one thing. No one let go of a good piece of scandal in this town. Hadn’t he spent his whole life here trying to clean his own family name?
“If there is ever a national spitting competition, Peter’s taking gold,” he said.
“To think I was hateful to Jeff for teaching him,” DeeAnn said.
“We should get this little guy taken care of. See you later, Emma.” Noah started toward his office door, and DeeAnn followed, while Emma trudged toward the library.
A little while later, Noah was seated in a pancake restaurant with DeeAnn and Peter. “Are you sure I can’t have a cast?” Peter poked Noah in the chest with a tiny finger and then peered around his shoulder. “I think a big cast would make me feel so much better. And some ice cream, Mom.”
“No ice cream. Pancakes,” DeeAnn said. “Noah, how is Emma? I heard she’d come back to renovate her grandmother’s house.”
“That’s what I hear, too.”
“She left after you all broke up, didn’t she? You were engaged.”
“That’s all in the past,” he said over Peter’s head.
“You worry about her, though. I see that on your face.”
“DeeAnn—”
“It’s none of my business. I know that.” She slid her hand through Peter’s curls. “But sometimes, when Ted’s home, I push him away because having him near makes me think how bad I’d feel if I lost him.”
“That’s not what I’m feeling.”
“I wasn’t just talking about you.”
He glanced back. Pamela Candler was reading a book over a drink and sandwiches in the shop’s screened porch. It wasn’t that big a coincidence. Pamela ate alone in a lot of the best restaurants in town.
But seeing Pamela, his thoughts went naturally to her daughter. Even if Emma and he wondered about what might have been, they both knew there was no going back. He’d made himself part of Bliss’s everyday life. He provided care, and he was learning to give without fearing he’d be slapped back because of his name. Emma was on her guard coming back, expecting the worst from everyone. She had no happiness here. She wouldn’t be staying.
* * *
“MOTHER.” EMMA TWISTED her hands in one of Nan’s hand-embroidered dish towels. Her mother waited behind the screen door, the darkness like a frame around her. “What do you want?”
“To see you. What do you think?”
“Do you need something from the house?” After the Thanksgiving debacle, Nan had changed her will. She’d passed over her own child to leave her home to Emma.
“If you’d read my emails, you might have known the house was looking run-down, but no, I didn’t come because I want my childhood back from you.” Pamela, in a beautiful red shift that set off her pale blond hair and bright red lips, looked at least ten years younger than her nearly fifty years.

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