Home For Keeps
Home For Keeps
Lynn Patrick
Preserving nature. Growing love. Can they do both?Grace Huber has no interest in taking over the reins of her father’s successful development company. Instead, she’s busy building a dream of her own: A “green” housing community in Wisconsin’s Sparrow Lake. Educator and conservationist Caleb Blackthorne is not only on the same page, the handsome single father tempts goal-oriented Grace to take time out to smell the flowers. But Caleb’s rebellious teenage daughter keeps throwing obstacles in their path. And when Caleb’s long-gone ex-wife shows up, along with rumors of ghostly sightings that threaten the future of Green Meadows, Grace fears she may lose all the things that matter most to her.
Preserving nature. Growing love. Can they do both?
Grace Huber has no interest in taking over the reins of her father’s successful development company. Instead, she’s busy building a dream of her own: a “green” housing community in Wisconsin’s Sparrow Lake. Educator and conservationist Caleb Blackthorne is not only on the same page, the handsome single father tempts goal-oriented Grace to take time out to smell the flowers. But Caleb’s rebellious teenage daughter keeps throwing obstacles in their path. And when Caleb’s long-gone ex-wife shows up, along with rumors of ghostly sightings that threaten the future of Green Meadows, Grace fears she may lose all the things that matter most to her.
Caleb looked at Grace. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” She smiled, but he still felt the tension between them. It had been a long day.
“Things might get even messier,” he warned. “I hope you’ll bear with me.”
Grace stepped toward him. “If you’re honest about your intentions, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” And he drew her closer to kiss her.
Her lips were soft and she wound her arms around his neck. For a moment, the day’s problems and irritations melted away. Grace felt so good in his arms. He wished they never had to return to reality.
Dear Reader (#ulink_9f4fa04f-826d-5e97-94d7-250de2bd74bc),
In Home for Keeps, a couple characters are frustrated by parents who don’t support them in working at what they love in life. Both of us, the coauthors of this story, were warned by our protective parents that making a living in a creative profession was impractical.
Patricia wanted to work in theater...then in television production...then as a romance writer. Because she’d had similar youthful desires, her mother empathized. Even so, she urged Patricia to get a teaching degree so that she always had a job. Patricia didn’t exactly follow that dictum, but she did work in educational television for nearly two decades, even as she wrote romances and became a published author...and eventually, a college-level fiction writing teacher, as well.
Linda wanted to be an artist and a writer. Although nobody else in her family had graduated from college, they urged her to pick up a teaching degree as a backup plan. She started out as a high school art teacher, went on to write romances and then got into teaching writing at the college level. Throughout, she has done artwork and used the creativity she developed in art classes to make life more interesting.
We believe that people should do what they love...and that it never hurts to have a practical option to earn a living. Hopefully, you’ll see something of yourself or someone you love in Grace and Caleb’s story.
Good reading!
Lynn Patrick
Home for Keeps
Lynn Patrick
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LYNN PATRICK is the pseudonym for two best friends who started writing together a few decades ago. Linda is a professor with a reading specialty, and Patricia writes as Patricia Rosemoor. Together they enjoy creating worlds that are lightened by the unexpected, fun and sometimes wonderful vagaries of real life.
Contents
COVER (#u95a705e5-b412-5581-81b3-3c764b39873a)
BACK COVER TEXT (#u29f19091-966d-5843-a298-85584552c42d)
INTRODUCTION (#u0b76fe48-18d9-58a8-99dd-cacf0f191f3e)
Dear Reader (#uddecfc13-ebe4-5e86-b7bc-6f8ee2869a19)
TITLE PAGE (#u3315cbb3-054f-500f-af24-82314451889f)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u4653ea3a-4b18-5218-beed-7d6f2c52ff92)
PROLOGUE (#u3b4f5ebb-caf3-536d-80e8-5612c4ede6a5)
CHAPTER ONE (#u0e8e2f22-374e-5eb0-813c-a986fb97f184)
CHAPTER TWO (#uaafdec32-1309-5d53-9660-83a672f90a99)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud1928b2d-41a6-5138-be2b-77afed2b94c4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u0c6b3053-455f-5b98-9c2c-271d8f57fd60)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u8666d4df-ad22-54d0-9cef-b9f4f033af97)
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)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_50e57c74-f5b0-5300-bf2d-8f21ce70f5b9)
JUST AS NELLIE MARTIN opened the kitchen door to empty her garbage, her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose. Stopping to punch them in place, she jerked when a ball of fur streaked through her legs. Her fifteen-year-old cat had just gotten out! There she went, all twenty pounds of her tottering straight into the dark.
“Olive!” Trying not to panic, Nellie dropped the garbage bag and followed.
She’d moved from a two-story home to a first-floor apartment in Sparrow Lake’s new green community only a week ago, and her cat had never been outside here. Oh, dear, what if she got lost?
Her pulse pounding, Nellie yelled, “Olive, you naughty girl, you come back here!”
How could such a rotund cat move like that? With her arthritic knees complaining, Nellie couldn’t move fast enough to catch up to the old girl. And where did Olive think she was going anyway? The area outside the apartment building was woodsy. Wisps of fog rose from the ground, making it a little scary at night. Imagining a coyote darting from the dark and snatching her beloved pet for dinner, she forced her legs to go faster. Even so, the cat slinked around a tree and then simply disappeared.
“Olive, sweetheart, please!”
Where had she gone? Nellie’s heart was in her throat as she slowed to scan the area. Nothing! Then through the fog, she saw movement.
“There you are,” she muttered, heading in that direction.
But the shape ahead turned into something other than a cat. A pale, floaty figure shot from one tree to another.
Oh, dear, it looked like...like a...a...!
Starting, Nellie couldn’t take her eyes from the vision, not until her foot hooked on something hard and heavy. Then she went flying, arms waving, but unable to regain her balance.
“Ohhhhhh!”
Landing on both hands and knees, Nellie saw stars from the pain. She couldn’t see anything else because her glasses had flown off her face and everything was a big blur. She gasped for breath. Tried to move. Sobbed from the pain as she felt around for her glasses.
Sobbed some more for the loss of her cat.
“Oh, Olive, how am I ever going to find you now?”
“Meow...”
Nellie’s eyes widened. “Olive?” She found her glasses and put them on just as her cat strolled up to her and gave her a full-body rub.
Grabbing Olive, Nellie kissed her head and clung to her furry companion with all her strength. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get to her feet without letting go. If she put Olive down, the naughty girl might take off again.
Fog swirled around them both, reminding Nellie of the distraction, the cause for her fall. She knelt there, cradling a now-purring Olive, her gaze scanning the area. She saw nothing amiss...yet...
Could the rumors be true?
Did a ghost really haunt the new development?
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a1ce69b6-78a0-55fc-b7fc-fa74d73719ff)
RUMOR HAD IT that Walworth Builders was responsible for Nellie Martin’s fall while chasing down her cat the night before, and there was speculation that Nellie was going to sue.
Sue for what? Grace Huber wondered, zooming out of Sparrow Lake proper and heading for Green Meadows. She hadn’t heard the nature of Nellie’s injuries, but the woman was up in years and a little frail. Concerned that Nellie might be more hurt than she’d let on, Grace wanted to make sure she was all right in person. And she wanted to take care of Green Meadows, as well. She’d found a new passion in building with the environment in mind, having talked her father into developing the “green” community, which combined condos, rental apartments and semidetached homes, all constructed with sustainable materials and heated with solar energy.
So it was no wonder that she wanted to deal with the problem herself.
Green Meadows didn’t need bad publicity, and she didn’t want her perfect community ruined by a lawsuit. She needed to work this out so Nellie was properly taken care of without the development being in jeopardy.
Turning off the main road, she entered Green Meadows and headed straight for the community center, where Nellie had agreed to meet with her. She was almost there when she realized a crowd had gathered outside in the parking lot. Because Nellie had been badly hurt? Worried, she pulled into the lot, left her car and made her way through the throng, only to stop when she saw the reason for the commotion. Taking a good look at the previously blank side wall of the building, Grace started. The community center had been constructed using repurposed wood plus stone from the local quarry, and the stuccoed side wall now boasted a large mural. In it, a woman walked away from prison bars separating her from the girl who was reaching for her.
“You ruined our community center!” a man cried.
“You two ought to be arrested!” a woman added.
It took Grace a moment to realize residents had surrounded two teenage girls. One looked like a wild punk rocker with dyed black hair, black eye makeup and lipstick. The other appeared more subdued, naturally dark hair pulled back from a makeup-free face that hinted of a Native American heritage. She held a paintbrush in hand.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” the punk rocker said. “They don’t appreciate your talent, Summer Storm.”
The girl did seem stormy when Grace stepped closer for a better look.
“Talent?” a woman said. “She defaced our property! Someone call Police Chief Novak!”
“What’s so wrong?” the young artist protested. “The development will look better with a mural! And they don’t even have to pay me for it.”
The sound of a truck squealing to a stop made Grace turn away for a second. She watched as a man with a rugged profile and blue-black hair worn to his shoulders jumped out. He was probably six feet and appeared powerful, if not broad. His tan shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealed arms roped with the muscle of someone acquainted with hard work.
“Grab the girl,” a woman called out. “We can bring her to the police ourselves.”
That pulled Grace’s attention back to the situation. “Wait a minute, no one is grabbing anyone!”
Now that she was closer to the artwork, she was stunned by the ferocity of emotion in the mural and knew it had nothing to do with beautification. The teenager herself wore a defiant expression, but Grace couldn’t miss the haunted look in her eyes. What had happened to make her so angry?
Before she could do anything to find out, the man from the truck stepped in. When he took the girl’s arm, she protested, “Dad!”
She struggled, but he didn’t free her. His dark-eyed gaze aimed straight at Grace when he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later to make sure this mess is taken care of.”
“Mess?” Summer Storm jerked her arm to no avail. “Taken care of? What do you mean, Dad? You’re going to ruin my mural, aren’t you?”
As he hauled his daughter off to his waiting truck, the man said, “I’m not the one who has explaining to do.”
Grace stared after them, wondering why she’d never noticed the attractive man around town before. He was definitely unforgettable.
“Are you going to let her get away with this atrocity?” someone in the crowd asked Grace. “Do something!”
Grace sighed and tried to muster a smile. “It’s time for everyone to go about your business. Don’t worry, I will get everything in hand.”
As the group dispersed, another person muttered, “You need to have both of those girls arrested.”
Girls. What happened to the other one? Grace wondered as she looked around. The punk rocker was nowhere to be seen. She’d disappeared while the going was good. Pints of different-colored acrylics that Summer Storm had used to paint the mural had been left behind in a carry carton, along with painting knives and brushes on a tray.
Several of the residents remained, undoubtedly waiting to see how she would solve the problem. Not knowing what to do with the girl’s paint supplies, Grace gathered them together and set them on one of the outdoor tables.
“Do any of you know the girl’s father?” she asked the onlookers.
“Name’s Caleb Blackthorne,” a man said. “He and his daughter live a half mile right down the road.” He pointed east. “They have one of them fancy new type A-frames set back from the road. Look hard to the left. You can just see it through the trees.”
“Thanks.”
The Blackthornes lived so close, she would deliver the supplies in person. And maybe get a bead on what was troubling the girl. Painting that mural on the development’s property made it Grace’s business. Then she spent the next several minutes rounding up a couple of workers and a neutral-color paint. Her chest tightened as she watched the men start to obliterate the mural that obviously must have meant something to Summer Storm. Once again, she wondered what had made the girl express her unhappiness so publicly.
Not that she had long to think about it. A van pulled up, its side scribed with Kenosha Journal in fancy lettering. Oh, great. What a terrible time for a reporter to show up. It took everything Grace had to smile at the man who alighted from the vehicle. She assumed the reporter was interested in the green community—it had already been featured in news reports in southern Wisconsin. Surely no one had called in the story about the mural.
“Hi. I’m Grace Huber with Walworth Builders. Green Meadows is our development. Can I help you?”
“Hope so. You can tell me about the latest ghost sighting.”
Grace had to scramble mentally to change subjects. “Ghost sighting?” She’d heard the rumor about there being a ghost flitting around the complex at night, but of course that was ridiculous. Why would a newspaper be interested?
“Nellie saw it last night,” an elderly woman stated. “That’s why she took a tumble.”
Nellie? The name jarred Grace into remembering why she’d come to the community center in the first place. She managed to sputter, “Nellie didn’t say anything to me about seeing a ghost.”
“Well, she did!” the woman’s companion added. “That’s why she fell on that rubble your crew left in the area. She told me she was distracted by something weird moving through the trees and her foot caught on a piece of discarded flagstone.”
The reason people were talking about Nellie suing Walworth Builders.
“Maybe Nellie has a few problems with her sight,” Grace said, remembering the older woman’s large glasses. “She’s probably confused if she thought whatever startled her could be a ghost.”
“How do you know?” another man asked. “There were rumors about the old farmhouse that used to be here being haunted.”
“Really,” the reporter murmured, zeroing in on the man.
Grace got between them. This was ridiculous. “There’s no story here. One of our residents had a little mishap chasing her cat last night. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’d like to talk to her myself.”
Holding back a moan of dismay, knowing she couldn’t stop the annoying reporter, Grace forced another smile. She’d wanted to speak to Nellie alone, to get the whole story without an audience to egg her on. Now that was out of the question.
“All right, then. Come with me.”
Though reluctant, she led him inside the community center, where she hoped she could run interference if the situation got out of hand.
* * *
CALEB BLACKTHORNE WAS royally ticked at his daughter getting into a mess again with her edgy little friend Kiki Johnson. He might feel sorry for the foster kid, but he wished Angela would stay away from her and what he saw as a negative influence. Kiki was always getting into some kind of trouble, and lately, so was Angela.
“Are you ready to explain yourself, young lady?”
He gave Angela a quick glance, long enough to see her mouth tighten before she turned her head away from him to stare out the side window in silence.
“What were you thinking, defacing private property?” Surely she would have something to say in response to that.
But no, the silence continued.
“And why would you go to Green Meadows in the first place? You don’t know anyone there.” The development was so new that only half of the units were even in use at this time.
More silence. Obviously his daughter didn’t mean to speak to him. Something that was becoming very familiar lately. This talk would have to be continued. She couldn’t go around doing whatever she wanted. He would be lucky if she didn’t get arrested this time, a distinct possibility. Something he would do anything to avoid.
What happened to his little “Angel”? His daughter had changed, especially lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe he deserved this. His karma for giving his mother so much grief when he was a teen. Maddie Blackthorne had been and was a great mother and person, a social worker who helped the homeless on the local Chippewa reservation find housing and health care and jobs. He’d never met his father, who’d disappeared without even knowing his mother was pregnant. Though she’d been on her own, his mother had given him a settled, safe life.
Despite his trying to do the same for his daughter but with more money than his mom had been able to make, Angela was as wild as he had been at her age. Now that she’d done something illegal, how long would it be before the local police came to pick her up? Was there any way to avoid that happening?
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Whose idea was this stunt? Yours or Kiki’s? Why do you want to hang around with her?”
That did it—Angela came out of her silent funk, shouting, “No! I’m not going to stop seeing her. She likes the same things that I do. She understands me. Kiki is my best friend!”
He knew both the girls thought of themselves as artists. “And you’re the only friend she has. That girl is a bad influence on you.”
“I don’t care what you say. I won’t stop seeing her. You can’t take someone else away from me!”
“I didn’t take anyone away from you.”
“What about my mother?”
Caleb gritted his teeth at that. Angela had seemed okay that it had been just the two of them all these years. What had brought this up now?
“I didn’t make your mother leave.” At sixteen, he’d been a too-young father with an irresponsible baby mama. “She wanted you...” And then she hadn’t. Lily had run away, leaving a month-old baby girl in his arms. “...but she was really young and scared.”
“You always tell me what to do and make me do what you want. You could have made her stay.”
“I only wish that was true. Lily made a bad decision because she was so young, Angel. I’m sure she’s regretted it a million times over the years.” At least he wanted his daughter to believe that.
“Then why didn’t she come back for me?”
A question he’d never been able to answer.
And then it came to him. The mural. The woman walking away from the jailed girl—Lily walking away from Angela and Angela feeling helpless to do anything about it. That had to be it. Something had brought up a hornet’s nest of emotion in his daughter. Not hard to envision. Angela was fifteen now, questioning everything, especially him and anything he wanted for her. But why was her absentee mother suddenly so important to her?
He flicked a look over to his daughter, who once more was staring out the side window, her shoulders set so tight he knew she wouldn’t answer if he asked. He wondered if she would talk to her grandmother, tell her the truth. Mom was his go-to person when it came to Angela. His daughter never resented her grandmother the way she did him. He would call Mom as soon as they got home, then he would settle this mural mess.
But how to do that other than manage the cleanup?
The woman who’d told everyone that no one was grabbing his daughter had appeared to be in charge at Green Meadows. She seemed like a decent sort. Attractive, too, he thought, remembering her lush dark hair and the spark in her pretty blue eyes as she’d controlled the situation. A strong woman. One who didn’t shirk from responsibility.
When he went back to take care of the mural, he would look for her. Talk to her. See if she could help.
He would do it for his daughter.
Still, the thought of getting to know a woman like that was extra incentive.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a8b6e841-d94c-5b65-9b4a-0f0997d91ed2)
IT WAS STILL MORNING, and Grace felt wrung out from the stress of everything happening at once. At least the reporter looking for a ghost story had spent only a few minutes with Nellie before leaving in disappointment. Thankfully, Nellie hadn’t been able to give him any details other than having seen some kind of faint movement through the trees. Just as Grace had expected. Apparently some of the other residents had blown up what they’d heard into something more exciting.
The community center had an area with tables for the residents to get together. Sitting opposite the older woman, Grace winced when Nellie raised her soda can with a bandaged hand.
“That’s quite some experience you had last night, Nellie. I’m very sorry you were hurt.”
“I was just so worried about Olive disappearing. And I let myself get distracted.” Nellie shook her head and her big glasses wobbled on her nose so that she had to punch them back in place. “I don’t believe in ghosts. It probably was just fog and wind.”
Relief washed through Grace. But not because of Nellie’s disbelief in ghosts. It didn’t sound as if the older woman wanted to sue the company.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have a doctor check you out?” Grace asked her.
“For a bruised knee and scraped palms?” Her surprisingly sharp blue eyes, magnified by thick lenses, gave Nellie an owlish expression reinforced by small tufts of silver hair around her face. “Really, no, but thank you for your concern.”
“Of course I’m concerned about all the residents of our new community. I’m going to make certain that area around your apartment is cleared of any debris.”
Nodding, Nellie said, “That would be good. Now if that darned cat of mine will get it into her head to appreciate her new home, we’ll be fine.” She glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “Uh-oh, it’s time for me to go. I need to get to my shop. Nellie’s Treasures opens in half an hour.” She gathered up her things. “I don’t know what else I can tell you anyway.”
Grace still hadn’t been to Nellie’s consignment shop and now vowed to do so as soon as she had some free time. “I don’t have anything else to offer. I just wanted to find out what happened and to be sure that you were all right.”
Nellie got to her feet. “Like I said, I hope Olive doesn’t try to escape again. The new apartment is nice, but it’s so small compared to our old house. At least there are no stairs,” she said, putting a positive spin on the complaint.
The woman didn’t have a car, so Grace asked, “Can I give you a ride to your shop?”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m good. Walking is the only exercise I get these days.”
Grace followed Nellie out of the building and headed straight for the parking lot, where she picked up the abandoned art supplies from the table. By the time she carried them to her car, she was a little breathless. Just walked too fast, she told herself. Nothing to do with looking forward to meeting the impressive-looking Caleb Blackthorne. Wondering if she was also going to meet Mrs. Blackthorne, she drove out of the parking lot and onto the road.
She was doing this for Summer Storm. The supplies were simply an excuse. What she really wanted was some insight to the girl. Grace hadn’t had a perfect past herself, so she could recognize a kindred spirit. She didn’t know why that seemed so important to her. Didn’t know what she could or would do about it. Community residents wanted the young artist arrested. Grace wanted to know if she needed help.
Once past the development property, she slowed the car and began peering through the trees near the road, looking for a house.
She almost missed it.
A glimpse of windows made her hit her brake just as she came to the driveway. Her stomach fluttered as she turned in toward the house. Built of cedar and stone, the building blended well with its natural surroundings despite its wall of windows. A large deck around the front and east sides of the house. The steep roofline dotted with solar panels met straight vertical walls, so the modified A-frame had a second story. A beautiful home, one she would be proud to have as part of Green Meadows.
Grace parked and fetched the art supplies. By the time she got to the front door, it opened to reveal Caleb Blackthorne on the other side. He’d changed into worn jeans and an old T-shirt. Though he stood straight and still, the energy he gave off seemed dynamic. His expression was serious, brows seemingly ready to segue into a scowl, but Grace refused to let that intimidate her.
Her smile feeling a little stiff, she said, “Mr. Blackthorne, I’ve brought what’s left of your daughter’s art supplies. Is she home?”
“No, her grandmother came and got her. Let me take that from you.” He removed the supplies from her hands and nodded toward the inside of the house. “Come on in.”
Grace followed him into a great room—it went the full two stories, and she could see a loft area above. “Wow, this is much bigger than I imagined for an A-frame.”
“The new multistory designs are.” He set everything on the dining table. “Thanks, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself. I could have fetched all this when I took care of the mural. I was just getting ready to head back to Green Meadows.”
“Already looked after,” she told him. “I came because I wanted to talk to you about Summer Storm.”
“Her name is Angela.”
His expression did become a scowl now, though Grace wasn’t sure if his irritation was with her or with his daughter.
“Okay, Angela, then,” she said.
“I only recently learned that she’s calling herself ‘Summer Storm.’ My daughter feels she needs a more exotic name to identify her as an artist.”
Grace heard the increased tension in his voice on the word artist. So he didn’t like his daughter’s ambition? Looking around at the art on the walls—her work, Grace assumed—she would never know it. Painted in broad, thick, colorful strokes that gave the paintings a life of their own, the artwork depicted the moods and intense beauty of nature. Some paintings seemed to be semirealistic landscapes; others were birds, a few with outstretched wings. The style wasn’t exactly abstract, but the artist had gone for emotion, not photographic reality.
“She has talent, that’s for sure,” Grace said sincerely, noting the tone of these paintings was far happier than the mural Angela had done that morning. She was glad she’d taken an art appreciation class so she had some basic understanding of expression in various mediums.
Caleb snorted. “Art, ha! How will my daughter make a living? She has no respect for my wishes or my hopes for her future. Whenever I tell her she needs to do something practical for a career and do her art on the side, she simply gets angry with me.” Making an exasperated sound, he pushed a wild strand of long hair back from his face. “Hey, I just made some iced tea. Can I get you a glass?”
“Sure. That would be great.” A reason to stay a little longer, so she could have a more in-depth conversation about Angela with him.
He moved into the open-concept kitchen area and grabbed two glasses from a shelf and filled them with ice from the refrigerator door. “Before Angela started calling herself Summer Storm, she was ‘Sights Lightning’ and before that, ‘Snow Falling.’” He poured the tea. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s ‘Looking for Trouble.’”
One look at his expression and the raised eyebrow and Grace grinned. She liked a man with a dry wit, especially when he could use it to counter his own feelings. He was obviously upset by his daughter’s action and was dealing with it in his own way. He handed her one of the glasses, and when he indicated the high chairs at the island, she slid onto one.
She sipped her iced tea. “I think all teenagers go through an identity crisis of some sort.”
“Yeah, that.” His voice was gruff. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning. My daughter has some issues, but why she went to Green Meadows to resolve them, I have no clue.”
“Is she unhappy about something in particular?”
“She’s fifteen.” He left it at that as if it would explain everything.
Which it sort of did to Grace, though she was certain there was more to it. But she was a stranger, and Caleb Blackthorne didn’t seem to be a man who liked to air his dirty laundry. He had his back up, but still, she couldn’t let it go.
“I was fifteen once, too. I did some things that made my dad a little crazy. But I had good reason.” Not that she wanted to tell a stranger her life story, either. “So I expect Angela had good reason for doing something so daring.”
Giving her an intent look, he said, “You seem to be in charge over there.”
“Sort of. Well, temporarily. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. Grace Huber. Walworth Builders is the family company. I’ll be in town overseeing things until Green Meadows is completed and more residents move in.”
He nodded. “About what happened, then...have you called the authorities?”
“No. I don’t want to handle it that way. I could see how upset your daughter was and I feel for her.” When Caleb gave her a questioning look, she said, “Remember, I was fifteen once, too.”
He heaved a sigh. “That friend she was with—Kiki—she’s always in trouble. It was probably her idea, convincing Angela to deface your property.”
“You really believe that?”
“Unfortunately, I do. The girl’s a problem. She doesn’t have anyone to stop her, either. Her dad overdosed on drugs and her mom’s in jail. She’s in a foster home.”
Grace couldn’t help but feel a pang. “How terrible!” But she wanted to talk about Angela. “Why does your daughter want to hang out with that girl? She was angry about something. And hurt. I could see it in her expression. In her eyes. Whatever her reason, it goes deeper than an irresponsible friend egging her on.”
Caleb sat stone-faced. She remained silent, hand tensed on her glass. Was he going to ask her to leave?
* * *
CALEB BIT BACK the urge to ask Grace to leave.
It wasn’t in his nature to open up to people he didn’t know well. Or to anyone, really, other than to his mother.
Grace Huber seemed to be a kind woman, concerned about his daughter. The ring of truth was in her words and her expression was sincere. She said she didn’t want to see Angela arrested. What did she want? Apparently something or she wouldn’t be here. No doubt, the truth to start.
It nearly choked him, but he said, “I think the girl behind bars in the mural was Angela, and the woman she couldn’t reach was her mother.”
Grace’s eyebrows rose. “So her mother’s not here. A recent divorce?”
He shook his head. “Never married. Lily ran off after Angela was born.”
“Oh.” Distress shadowed Grace’s expression, but she recovered quickly. “Then your explanation of the mural makes total sense.”
“Why now, though?” Caleb still couldn’t fathom it.
Had someone been talking to Angela about her mother? Lily’s parents had moved to a warmer climate after she’d disappeared. And there were no other relatives in the area. So who?
He said, “She’s rarely asked about her mother in all these years.”
“But now she’s fifteen. A fifteen-year-old girl needs a mother.”
Hearing a catch in Grace’s voice, Caleb started. She didn’t even know his daughter. “That’s something I can’t do for her. I’ve never heard from her mother since she ran off. I have no idea where to find her. And I can’t even make Angela realize what she did at Green Meadows was wrong.”
“I guess all you can do is keep trying. Talk to her. Support her.”
“Exactly what I’ve been doing all these years!” He hadn’t meant to show his irritation, and he could see his flare of anger threw Grace off. “Hey, sorry. I’m just at my wits’ end with all these changes in Angela.”
“Obviously this is a more difficult time in your daughter’s life than you’ve experienced before.”
Which was true, Caleb thought. Calmer now, he said, “Hopefully my mother can get through to her. She has more influence with Angela than I do these days.” He took a slug of his tea, but it tasted sour going down. “Whatever it cost to remove the mural, I’m good for it. Just let me know how much.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I pay my own way.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” He toyed with his glass, spinning it halfway around on the island. They were done here, but for some reason, he didn’t want Grace to leave yet. Didn’t want to be alone to torture himself with what-ifs about his daughter. So, he said, “I want you to know I admire the work you’re doing at Green Meadows.”
“Thank you. It’s been a challenge, but very rewarding.”
“How did you get interested in green living?”
“I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors. Hiking. Biking. Boating.” Things her father didn’t care about and didn’t like her doing. “So I started looking for ways to help keep the planet healthy. Recycling. Composting. Adding little things to make my place earth-friendly.”
“Sounds like a great start. Not everyone is open to change.” Another thing to appreciate about her.
“Until now, our company built single-family homes and moderate-sized apartment buildings. Then Dad got this idea to create a whole development in an area that had open spaces but was still commuter distance from cities like Kenosha and Milwaukee. A place where people could live while they worked and then could retire in comfort. He’s been thinking about that a lot lately—retiring.”
Caleb realized her tone shifted on that last thought, as if it bothered her. “And he wanted it to be a green community?”
She shook her head. “That was my doing. I’d been reading about ways to build green, and I got on board. Not everyone in Sparrow Lake seems to be in love with the idea of the new development, but I think most people are coming around.”
“I was eager to see what would happen when I heard about the proposal. I teach environmental studies at the community college.”
“Really. Oh, I love it! I should take one of your classes.”
Her sudden enthusiasm made him smile. “We’re two-thirds of the way through spring semester now, but you can sign up for a course this summer. They start at the beginning of June. Well, if you’ll still be here then.”
“I will be here, at least until fall, so I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “We’re just completing a half-dozen town houses. And starting the landscaping with an environmental company. The woman in charge lives in Sparrow Lake. Maybe you know her. Heather Scofield.”
“I do. I mean, I don’t know Heather well, but she took a couple of my classes, and we’ve talked a bit at some regional environmental meetings.”
“Have you taken a personal look at Green Meadows?” Grace asked. “I mean, other than this morning.”
“No, haven’t had the opportunity.”
“Let me know when you have some time available. I’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”
“Thanks. Real nice of you.” He noticed her glass was empty. “Can I refill that?”
“Thanks, but no. I should get going.” She slid off her chair. “I need to get to the office.”
Caleb rose and walked her to the door. “Thanks for bringing Angela’s supplies. And for taking care of the cleanup. And most of all, for being concerned about my daughter.”
“No problem. If there’s anything I can do to help...”
“...I’ll let you know.”
She left. Caleb remained at the window and watched as she got into her car and drove away.
An interesting and compassionate woman.
One he hoped to see again.
Soon.
* * *
GRACE LEFT THE Blackthorne property but couldn’t get thoughts of Caleb out of her mind. He intrigued her. He seemed to be a strong man, one who would do anything to protect his daughter. Not unlike what her father had done for her when she was a teenager.
Despite the fact that it was a Saturday, she headed for the office, admiring an open field full of dandelions as she passed. She bet that the country roads around here sported wildflowers and all kinds of new growth. Birds would be making nests. She only wished she had time to drive around and look. The weekdays were so busy. There was always so much to catch up on.
They’d rented a storefront with offices for both her and her father in Sparrow Lake proper, directly on Main Street. She passed Nellie’s Treasures and a little farther down, Sew Fine, the quilting shop. The Walworth Builders satellite office was on the next block, directly across from The Busy Corner, which served a great breakfast and a decent lunch. After parking in a reserved space behind her office building, she entered, wondering if her father had heard about that morning’s excitement at the development.
“Morning, Carol,” she said.
“Grace, there you are, thank goodness.”
The receptionist wore a worried smile. Then again, Carol worried about everything and everyone, said it was the result of having raised five kids. Blamed them for the gray in her hair, though she was barely forty.
“Is something wrong?” Grace tried to keep tension from her voice, but Carol’s brows were knit together.
“Mr. Huber wants to see you,” she said in something just above a whisper. “He told me to send you in the moment you arrived.”
Oh, great. Wearing a forced smile, she entered her father’s office. Sitting behind a massive desk loaded with paper files, Henry Huber appeared every bit the successful businessman he was. His stocky build was minimized by tailor-made suits, which he wore even when visiting the construction site, and his dark hair laced with silver was professionally trimmed every other week.
“Hey, Dad, I heard you wanted to see me.”
He glared at her and looked as if he was ready to pop a cork. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve had people calling me the past couple of hours to complain.”
Uh-oh, he knew about the mural. Grace tried to divert him by asking, “You mean they’re bothering you about the ghost sighting? I talked to Nellie Martin. She really didn’t see anything other than some faint movement through the trees, maybe fog, but people are convinced the land is haunted.”
“Ignore them.” He carefully arranged a stack of paper in one of the trays on his desk. “I did hear a rumor about a murder...or similar in that old farmhouse we tore down. Whitman. That was the name of the old couple that lived there.”
“A murder?”
“Something that happened back nearly a century ago. Nobody could offer any proof, though. Probably just gossip.”
“A hundred years ago, huh?” Grace felt a bit relieved. “Yes, probably gossip.” People in small towns loved to talk.
“Whatever. It’s not important. What is important is taking care of our project now. I heard how well you did that this morning. Residents are complaining that you wouldn’t call the authorities and have those girls who defaced the property arrested.”
She should have known better. When her father had something he wanted to say, it was like a mission to him. “I did speak with the artist’s father—”
“Artist? You mean vandal!”
“She’s a kid, Dad. Her mother ran off and left her, and she’s upset about that. You remember what that was like, don’t you? You would have totally gotten it if you had seen the mural she painted.”
Her father’s mouth tightened.
She went on. “Caleb Blackthorne has taken this very seriously. He’s about out of his mind with worry for his daughter. I think he was terrified that I would have her arrested.”
Her father’s visage changed. He looked a little haunted himself. She knew he remembered the trouble she’d gotten herself in. It was a time in their lives that neither of them would ever be able to forget.
“Dad?”
“All right, all right! As long as they stay off the Green Meadows grounds.”
Grace was certain Caleb would do what he could to make sure Angela stayed in line. But she didn’t know about the other girl, Kiki. Still, she said, “They will,” with more certainty than she actually felt.
“Good. Then concentrate on the job. On what’s important, so you can slide behind my desk when I retire next year.”
Grace’s throat tightened. “You’re not going to retire, Dad. You would be too bored.” And thinking about whether he would retire or not was making him uptight.
“I want the pleasure of seeing what I’ve built become an enduring legacy for my family.”
“I understand you do.” Though Grace was not happy with the future he expected of her, she never could tell him that. “Now, I’ve got work waiting for me.”
While she enjoyed the public part of her job—dealing with people—she wasn’t so crazy about the executive part of it, particularly the never-ending meetings and financial planning for the future. The endless paperwork made her crazy, and she would do anything to avoid it. She wanted to expand her knowledge and get more personally involved in the green community, an idea that Dad continually criticized, making her keep her wishes to herself and resent him for it.
Her father waved her away, and she traded his office for her own, where she pulled out the proposal Heather had drawn up for the landscaping. Though she looked it over, she couldn’t focus. She kept glancing out the window, watching sparrows play tag as she thought about her future.
About her father telling her she was born to be his right hand, that her purpose in life was to run Walworth Builders when he was done serving his time.
She knew that position would have gone to her twin brother, if Michael had lived past thirteen. His death in a tragic boating accident drove her parents apart, and her mother had divorced her father and abandoned her when she’d moved to Minneapolis. She and her father had been left to go it on their own. That’s when she’d started acting out, getting herself into trouble. Like Angela, she’d been a handful, but her father had both protected her and put her back on the straight and narrow. And so, grateful, she felt very protective of the man who’d lost so much in life.
If only he wasn’t so demanding and grumpy. If only he didn’t tell her what she needed to do and how to do it. Her father really would retire one of these days. He expected her to take over as CEO at Walworth and, though it was the last thing she wanted, Grace knew she would do as he wished. Reaching up to close the blinds, she forced herself to stare at the papers in front of her.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_99571f46-ee42-546b-8775-bd5f1c6772c8)
“AREN’T YOU AFRAID your dad’s gonna kill you?” Kiki asked Angela on Monday morning, halfway through building a semitraditional sweat lodge a hundred yards from the house.
Angela glanced at her friend, who was decked out in her usual black clothes and makeup, but with new purple extensions flowing from her hair. “Dad grounded me, he said I had to stay home, but he didn’t say I had to stay inside.” It was her spring break, after all. The community college had been off the week before, so Dad was at work and she was theoretically alone. He’d probably have a cow if he knew Kiki was here. “Besides, he’ll have to see I’m doing something worthwhile.”
Even if her father wasn’t into Chippewa culture the way she was. And even if her true intention was to have a place to get away from him. She could come out here to avoid his lectures about how she needed to be practical, to plan for her future, about how she was always doing things the wrong way—which really meant she wasn’t doing things his way.
“What if he asks why you decided to build a lodge?” Kiki asked.
She wouldn’t tell him the truth. “I’ll say I was inspired the last time I stayed with Gran Maddie. He never argues with his mother about anything. He just can’t know you were here helping me. By the time he comes home from work, we’ll be finished. Too late for him to tell me to forget it.”
Kiki circled the half dome of saplings they’d tied together with twine. “Um, I hate to say it, but it looks a little crooked.”
Sighing, Angela agreed. “It does, but it’s my first try. It’ll have to do for now. Let’s get this stuff up.” She indicated the pile of tarps and blankets she’d collected from the house. “Blankets first. The tarps will keep them from getting wet when it rains.”
“Yeah, if you get to keep it up that long.”
Angela’s chest tightened. Dad had better not make her take her sweat lodge down! She didn’t know what she might do if he did.
They spent the next twenty minutes carefully aligning blankets and securing them to the frame, leaving an opening facing east, but with a flap she could lower for complete darkness. And privacy.
“So what did you do yesterday when Dad dragged me away from the mural?” Angela asked.
“Something fun.”
“What?”
“I got back at them—the creepy Green Meadows residents who wanted us arrested.”
“Kiki, what did you do?”
“I called someone who would be interested in murders and ghosts. Hopefully, he’ll scare them to death!”
Angela rolled her eyes. Wasn’t the mural enough for one day? “Are you sure you should have done that? If anyone finds out, you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“So? I’ve been arrested before. No biggie.”
Arrested. Angela shuddered as they began gathering large stones. She knew Kiki had been arrested for shoplifting once and had spent a day behind bars. She didn’t want that fate for herself. She’d hoped they could disappear before someone discovered they were painting a mural on that wall, and when they were caught, she’d really been afraid someone would call the cops.
Having borrowed the portable fire pit from the deck, she’d set it on its pad a dozen feet from the lodge. She layered the bottom with wood and covered it with the stones they’d gathered before starting the fire. They really should be volcanic rock, but she didn’t know where to get those, so fieldstone would have to do. While she filled a bucket with water and set it inside, Kiki dug a hole in the ground under the dome. Then they used shovels to move the hot rocks into the hole.
“That’s it. We’re ready.” Feeling a sense of accomplishment, Angela crawled inside, careful not to get too close to the heat.
Following suit, Kiki turned on a battery-operated light and lowered the flap.
“Ready?” Angela asked.
“I am if you are.”
Angela lifted the bucket and poured water onto the hot stones, filling the dome with steam. Wow, it really did get hot in there fast! She was already beginning to sweat. Then it was time to start the ceremony that would bring them closer together, as Native American tradition dictated. She’d researched sweat lodges. They weren’t going to strip off their clothes, but they’d worn tank tops under their shirts and bicycle shorts to help with perspiration. Kiki was already taking off her black cotton blouse.
On to the ceremony. According to the sources Angela had found on the internet, they were supposed to conduct a “talking circle.”
“Kiki, you start. Speak from your heart about your life and concerns.”
“What life? You know what I have to deal with. I guess that’s my concern, too.”
Angela knew that Kiki had drawn the short straw when it came to family, but somehow she’d held up under the negativity and was a good-hearted person anyway. And a really good friend.
“Isn’t there anyone out there for you?” she asked. “An aunt or an uncle? A cousin?”
“A grandmother. Somewhere.”
“You never told me that before!”
Kiki shrugged. “Why would I? It’s not like I know her. The last time I saw her I was seven. We were living in Chicago at the time. She and my mom had a big fight, and Mom told her she was leaving town and Grandma would never see either of us again.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know that.” And that meant Kiki’s grandmother didn’t have any idea her granddaughter was in trouble and needed her. “What’s her name?”
“Elizabeth Hartl. Why?”
“Maybe we could find her.”
“Why bother? She won’t want me around. No one does.”
Angela was sure Kiki’s foster mother had convinced her of that. “Well I want you around.” There had to be a way to find Kiki’s grandmother. Surely the woman wouldn’t want her granddaughter in some terrible foster home. Wanting to get her friend’s spirits up, she said, “Why don’t you speak about your dreams. Or anything that comes to you that puts a smile in your heart. What would make you really happy?”
“Okay... I wish... I wish I had a father like yours.”
“Like mine?” Angela choked out. Still angry with Dad, she was aghast. “But he’s always ordering me around!”
“Because he wants the best for you. He takes good care of you. You have a great bedroom and an art room, too.” Kiki’s voice rose to a squeak. “The only nice thing I have is my tattoo.”
“It really is beautiful,” Angela said, thinking of the roses tattooed on her friend’s hip. Despite being underage, Kiki had found someone to ink her.
“Most of all,” Kiki went on, “your dad’s here with you. And he loves you.”
“I’m sure your mom loves you. Your real mom, I mean.”
“A lot of good that does me with Mom locked up.”
“But she’ll get out. You’ll see her again in less than a year.”
“I hope so, but I don’t know,” Kiki said, sounding forlorn. “Sometimes I think it’ll never happen. I’ll never see her again.”
Angela could really identify with Kiki on that one. Both girls were silent for a moment.
Then Kiki asked, “What do you wish for?”
Angela took a deep breath. “Pretty much the same as you. I wish I had a mother who cared about me instead of running away from me all my life.” Her chest tightened and her stomach started to ache as she thought about it. “Even now, she can’t come to see me.”
“Are you certain your dad didn’t make it impossible for her?”
“Pretty certain.” After the talk they’d had the night before. Maybe Dad wasn’t to blame for her mother leaving her as she’d always believed. “So that means she just doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Well...if it’s true. Your mom being back could just be a rumor.”
“You’re right. Ever since I heard Gran Maddie’s neighbor talk about ‘that Lily Trejo having the nerve to show her face on the rez again,’ I’ve been asking around. No one will admit to actually having seen my mother except for old Jasper, who sits outside the municipal building most days, and he’s not the most reliable person.”
“Do you think he lied when he said he saw your mom on Green Meadows property?”
“No, not lied. But Jasper has his good days, and other times...” She shrugged. Something in her wanted to believe...
The real reason she’d painted the mural had been to send a message to her absentee mother, assuming she really was back and had gone to Green Meadows.
Another purpose for the lodge: she could come out here to simply think about the mother she’d never met and without interference figure out what to do next to try to find her.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING WAS BUSY, as usual, but after showing a potential buyer to the office door, Grace glanced out the windows just as Caleb Blackthorne entered The Busy Corner across the street. He looked every bit the confident male in his jeans and leather jacket and boots. His long hair was tied back with what appeared to be a strip of leather. A little breathless, she had to fight the urge to leave the office and visit the restaurant for some take-out coffee as she often did. Instead, she decided to make a fresh pot.
“Oh, I didn’t see the pot was empty,” Carol said as Grace carried it to the restroom to get water. “I can do that. You have more important things to take care of.”
“No problem, Carol.” Grace raised her voice over the already running water. “I needed an excuse to stretch my legs anyway.”
An excuse to get away from more important things—that wretched paperwork that was waiting for her on her office desk. She would love, for example, to give Caleb that grand tour of Green Meadows she’d promised him. Hmm...
Setting up the coffee took only a few minutes. Carol was now on the phone with one of their suppliers. As she thought about the possibility of that tour to get her away from the office, Grace couldn’t resist the temptation to walk back to the windows. She was staring at The Busy Corner as if she could conjure Caleb Blackthorne again, when an old minibus rattled up and parked in front of the restaurant. Out stepped the odd-looking driver, who appeared to be wearing a costume of sorts. Short and chubby with a Van Dyke beard, he sported a bowler hat and a frock coat that had seen better days.
As he walked around the vehicle to let passengers out of the back, she noted the cartoon-like ghost painted on the side of the bus along with Spooky Tours... Hosted by Vincent Pryce.
What in the world...?
And then it hit her—this was a ghost tour operation. And it had come here, no doubt, because of the rumors at Green Meadows!
The odd little man was guiding a dozen people inside The Busy Corner.
“The coffee is ready.”
Carol’s voice jerked Grace around. “What?”
“Your coffee.” The receptionist indicated the coffeemaker.
“Right. Thanks.” She glanced back through the window as the man followed his customers inside. What in the world was he telling them about the development? And with all those people in the restaurant—potential residents—within hearing distance. “I think I need something to go with the coffee. If anyone asks for me, I’ll be back in...well, a while.”
Grace left the office and raced across the street. She opened The Busy Corner door. All the passengers on the tour had taken seats around tables, and a busboy was distributing menus and water. Grace glanced past them to the far wall where Caleb sat alone enjoying a piece of apple pie. She wanted to wave at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Or anyone for that matter. He was too busy reading his newspaper.
One of the people from the minibus said, “What I heard happened on that farm is even better than the Milwaukee beer baron story. C’mon, Vincent, don’t make us wait any longer. Tell us about the farmhouse murder!”
Grace clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t interrupt. She wanted to hear what this guy had to say, as well. Her father had told her there had been a murder on the Green Meadows property, but he hadn’t had the details.
The tour leader—Vincent, apparently—stood in the center of the room, bowler hat still firmly in place as he puffed out his chest and cleared his throat. “Right after the First World War, that farm was owned by a mean old couple with a crazy grown son. Really weird folks, the Whitmans, who made their neighbors uncomfortable, made friends with no one. They were farmers who should have had responsibility to their animals, but they got up whenever they wanted and made the cows wait to be milked.”
“Was that bad?” asked another member of the group.
Vincent said, “Yes, it was bad. They should have been milked at sunrise. Those poor cows suffered. And then they didn’t milk the cows again until after dark. The neighbors were horrified when they saw the lanterns lighting up the old barn late at night. Horrified, too, when the crazy son who served in World War I marched around the property carrying a shotgun and looking for Germans.”
“Plenty of Germans in these parts,” a local woman said. “Did he ever shoot anyone?”
“He did. One of their cows who wandered away from the herd. Shot it in the head and killed it dead.”
Several gasps made Grace realize everyone in the restaurant other than Caleb was captivated by the story. Finally looking up and spotting her, he shot both eyebrows up high and shook his head.
“What happened then?” came another question.
“Son got taken away to an asylum, where he stayed for the rest of his life.”
“That’s it?” a man groused. “A cow was murdered?”
People grumbled as if disappointed.
“No, no, that was just the beginning,” Vincent went on, embellishing. “Then the rumors started about a cow with blazing red eyes appearing. Soon after, the couple was found dead. Old Whitman sprawled across the kitchen floor, his head smashed in...blood on a rolling pin in the sink.”
“What about the woman?”
“Found facedown outside as if she’d been running from something fearsome and had a heart attack. Rumor had it the murdered cow’s ghost was possessed, and no one wanted to go near the property because it haunted the fields.”
“Oh, come on!” Appalled, Grace moved toward the tour guide. “Where did you get that information? What proof do you have that anything you said is true?”
Vincent puffed himself up but still had to tilt his head to look her in the eye. “Are you a ghost hunter?” he demanded.
As if his calling himself a ghost hunter gave him unique qualifications, Grace thought. “No. Green Meadows is my community, and I don’t appreciate your tall tales meant to scare people or make them uncomfortable.”
“I’m not doing anything illegal. And just because you don’t believe in ghosts doesn’t mean the story isn’t true.”
“A ghost cow?” she asked.
“With blazing red eyes. And it still wanders the area, sometimes on deserted country roads...”
Grace had had enough. She started to open her mouth again.
“Oh, come on, lady,” one of the group interrupted. “Don’t spoil our fun!”
Fun? Could this man really just make up a bunch of lies and people would pay to hear them? Distraught, she looked around and noted irritated expressions on several faces. Obviously these tourists were getting what they wanted and didn’t appreciate her interference.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Paying no attention to her, the tour leader started explaining how the cow chasing old Mrs. Whitman was reenacted on the Green Meadows property whenever there was moonlight.
Disgusted, Grace turned to leave and nearly ran into Caleb, who had his bill and some cash in hand.
“Don’t let him get to you,” he said softly as they reached the cashier and he set down his money, then went on without waiting for change. “It’s ridiculous, but it isn’t meant to hurt anyone.”
“Plus it brings in business,” added the cashier, nodding to the group, most of whom seemed to be ordering sandwiches or full meals.
“Come on.” Caleb held the door open for Grace.
Once outside, she said, “But what if it hurts the new community? People can be superstitious. If they believe him, they might not want to go anywhere near Green Meadows.”
“Yes, levelheaded people around here are going to believe there’s a ghost cow with blazing red eyes roaming the property.” His tone was serious but laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.
Despite her irritation with the tour leader, Caleb made her laugh. “Okay, okay.”
“If I know people around here, they’ll be snorting over that guy’s story for days to come. Until someone else comes up with a more outrageous tale.”
“Hopefully Green Meadows is safe then.” The idea of going back to her paperwork made Grace desperate enough to ask Caleb, “Have you thought about taking that tour of the green community with me?”
“You were serious?”
“I was.”
“Then I would love it. Are you busy now?”
Thinking about the paperwork waiting for her in the office, she said, “Now would be a perfect time.”
* * *
SINCE CALEB LIVED so close to the development, it made sense for them to drive separately and meet at the community center. Arriving at Green Meadows before Grace, he took a good look at the wall his daughter had defaced a few days ago. Already painted over. Part of him regretted Angela’s work being destroyed, especially since it had such emotional significance to her. What she had done was wrong, but maybe it was his fault. In the past, he’d avoided discussing Lily with his daughter. He’d had no idea that she’d thought he had somehow taken her mother away from her, the antithesis of the truth. When he’d fallen in love with Lily, he’d been young and naive and had thought they would be together forever.
“How is Angela doing?”
Caleb started. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard Grace’s car pull up. He turned to face her. The breeze caught her dark hair, creating a lovely cloud around her face. “She’s coping, I guess. She’s still avoiding me as much as she can.”
Grace nodded in what seemed like understanding. “Let’s walk this way.”
She indicated the sidewalk that would take them past one of the condo buildings, plus several duplexes. Caleb was glad to note that all the buildings sat on large pieces of land and backed onto a forested area. So while people did have neighbors, they also had enough room for gardens and outdoor activities and a wonderful backyard view of something other than more buildings. The solar panels that heated and cooled the dwellings were cleverly inserted into the roofs.
He asked, “How big is the development?”
“Almost four acres. Half of that is common land, never to be built on. Phase 1 is only about an acre, similar to the size of a football field.”
“So there will be a Phase 2?”
“Down the road. Maybe. Assuming Phase 1 is successful. So far we’re about half-full and still working on completing a half-dozen town houses. Let’s hope that tour operator didn’t scare away people who might have been thinking of moving in.”
“I doubt that’s likely. He was just too outrageous for anyone with sense to buy into his story.”
“Hopefully you’re right. At any rate, if we went ahead with the second phase, we would probably add some single-family homes.”
“That would be good to bring in families with kids.”
“Exactly what we’re hoping to do. We want the community to be multigenerational, with the option for our more mature residents to age in place.”
As they walked through the network of winding streets, Grace talked about their objectives. “We want to protect occupant health by using safe building products, including what we can of mold-and fire-resistant materials. And we hope to reduce the impact to the environment by using energy and water resources more efficiently.” Grace sounded apologetic when she said, “But I’m preaching to the choir. You already know all that.”
“That may be true, but it’s nice to hear someone else talk about it.”
Caleb appreciated that Grace knew her stuff. Despite the fact that she claimed to be an amateur, she’d gotten so much right. He liked the walking paths carved through the forest so that residents could experience nature just outside their door. He particularly liked the chance to walk through the area with her.
“This is the rental building where Nellie lives,” she pointed out, taking a path that led behind it toward a stand of trees. “Let me know if you see any ghosts, okay?”
“A cow with glowing red eyes?”
They laughed together as they got on the walking path that cut through the trees behind the housing.
Caleb loved the near silence surrounding them. He could pick up welcome noises. A bird’s wings flapping. A small animal foraging for something to eat. A squirrel racing from one tree to the next. Grace seemed equally happy just being one with nature for the moment, not having to keep a conversation flowing. The expression on her face looked as serene as if she were meditating on the outdoor beauty. He liked that, plus he felt comfortable with her. As if he’d known her for months or years rather than a few days.
“Angela would love this trail,” Caleb said. “She would find dozens of places to hunker down and sketch.”
“I noticed how much she used nature in her art at your place the other day. If you wanted to bring her out here sometime, I have no objection.”
“I don’t think she wants to go anywhere with me at the moment.”
“She knows you love her. She’ll calm down.”
“I can hope.” Then Caleb reminded her, “I want to pay for the damage. Did you figure out how much I owe you?”
“Not yet. How about I send you an email when I tally it up.”
“Sounds fair. What I should do is find a way to make Angela pay for her own bad choices before she does something worse. I had a rough go of it myself when I was her age.” Surprisingly, Caleb found himself opening up to Grace, probably because she’d been so concerned for Angela and Kiki. “I was reckless. Got into all kinds of trouble. I didn’t expect to end up being a Dad at sixteen.”
“Oh...wow...you were a kid yourself.”
Rather than shocked, Grace sounded compassionate, which made Caleb appreciate her even more.
“I had to grow up fast. Thankfully, I had a terrific mother, who helped me make a U-turn with my life. I took custody of Angela, got myself through high school and into college. Took me a lot of years going to school while working in construction and other hard labor jobs. I had to make a decent living while getting my degrees.”
“But it was all worth it.”
He nodded. “I did it for Angela. Not that she sees it. She has no idea of how hard it was for me to give her the comfortable life she’s had. I wanted to be a good example, so that she would make better choices for herself than I did at her age. Lately it hasn’t seemed like I succeeded.”
“You can’t blame yourself. Every teenage kid goes through something. It’s part of growing up. What you did for her...that was everything. Give her some time, and she’ll realize that.”
Caleb hoped Grace was correct. Drawn to her caring nature, he didn’t miss the fact that she was a fine-looking woman. A little fancy for him, wearing what he thought was a designer dress and heels so high they were practically eye-to-eye. The look suited her, though, appearing...effortless.
Caleb wouldn’t mind getting to know Grace Huber better.
If only Angela wasn’t having an absentee-mother crisis.
Realistically, he couldn’t have met the appealing woman at a worse time.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fb3e02c3-f6f4-5718-8e0a-1fd4073cf1c4)
GRACE HUMMED TO herself as she got ready for her meeting with Heather Scofield about the landscaping for Green Meadows. She kept playing the time she’d spent with Caleb the afternoon before over and over in her head. It had been a simple walk, but she couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time with a man. She’d been so focused on work since Dad announced he was contemplating retiring, that she hadn’t even thought about dating in some time.
Well, now she was thinking about it!
There was a lot she appreciated about Caleb Blackthorne beyond his good looks. His devotion to his daughter touched her deeply. She liked the fact that he taught environmental studies. He was a man of principle. She’d meant to forgo billing him for the repaint job on the community center, but his reminder had convinced her she needed to let him make up for his daughter’s actions.
Most of all, she’d loved just being with Caleb on that walk. They had a like appreciation of nature. She was always trying to identify birds and often spent free time reading nature magazines, so she’d been aware of everything around her, and he hadn’t cut in with forced conversation. They both had been comfortable just being together, listening to the sounds of birds flying and small animals scurrying around. She couldn’t have had a better time.
She was smiling to herself just thinking about it when Heather appeared at her office door.
“You certainly look cheerful this morning.”
The smile turned to a grin. “I have a lot to be cheerful about.”
That’s when she noticed Heather’s expression was just a little distressed. And, in addition to her portfolio, Heather held a sheet of paper gripped tightly in one hand.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
Heather crossed to her desk. “Sorry.” And set the paper down in front of her.
It was a flier.
SPOOKY TOURS... HOSTED BY VINCENT PRYCE shouted at Grace from the top of the flier, and it took her a moment to read the rest. See the old Whitman farmstead, where ghosts were responsible for the deaths of an old man and his wife! Now they are haunting the grounds, too.
Choked up, she said, “If only there was something I could do to stop him!”
“I don’t know on what grounds as long as he stays off yours,” Heather said. “I mean, he can drive down the street and say whatever he wants about the area. I don’t know that anyone can stop him unless he’s defaming someone who is still alive and who can sue him.”
Grace’s stomach tightened at the thought of instigating a lawsuit. Not that it would go anywhere under the circumstances. “Well, maybe no one will want to go on that tour. At least not potential residents.”
“The best way to calm people down is to get to know them personally,” Heather said.
“I haven’t exactly had a lot of time for socializing this past year.”
“I know you were really busy. But things at Green Meadows are winding down now.”
Grace immediately thought about checking out Nellie’s Treasures as she’d vowed to do the other day. Then again, Nellie was only one person. And she was already a resident.
“Any suggestions of where I can meet a lot of people at once?”
“There’s a fund-raiser social being given by the Ladies Auxiliary of First Presbyterian Church the weekend after next. They’re raising money for a new air-conditioning system for the church offices. And this Wednesday is Pancake Day. You definitely should go to that to meet people.”
“Pancake Day?”
“The Sparrow Lake Creamery and Dairymen’s Association have a Pancake Day every year during the kids’ spring vacation so everyone can come. It gets townspeople invested in supporting the local dairy industry—the butter and cream and milk produced in this area.”
“So it’s a breakfast?”
“All-day breakfast at the Sparrow Lake Farmers’ Co-op.”
Grace scribbled a note to herself even as she wondered if she would fit in at this kind of social event. “At the co-op?”
“Right. The building has offices and meeting rooms. That’s where the Dairymen’s Association is located. I’m going around noon. If you like, we can go together, as long as you don’t mind that I’ll be bringing the twins. I can introduce you to people you haven’t yet met.”
“Great. And I would love to see Addison and Taylor again.”
Heather eyed Grace’s designer suit. “You might want to...um...dress down a little.”
“So I fit in. Got it. Now at least I have a plan to influence people more than some transient ghost hunter. I can hope, right?”
Heather’s expression remained cautious.
Uh-oh. That didn’t bode well, Grace thought. “Is there a problem I don’t know about?”
“Just a little one. There’s another reporter going around town, trying to dig up a story about the ghost sightings.”
Grace groaned. “And I was just thinking what a nice day I had yesterday on the ‘haunted’ property. I say we get down to work before I lose my mind over this nonsense.”
At her invitation, Heather took a chair on the opposite side of the desk. As always, she was dressed casually compared with Grace, today in pale green chinos and a matching spring sweater. Her light brown hair streaked with blond was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was makeup free other than a swipe of tinted lip gloss.
“So...yesterday...” Heather cleared her throat and with an interested expression lighting her pretty face asked, “What was going on?”
“Oh. I, um, gave Caleb Blackthorne a tour of the area.” Grace tried to keep her tone casual.
“Ah, I see.”
She simply blinked at the other woman’s knowing tone.
Heather went on. “Caleb Blackthorne is considered quite a catch to the unmarried women in these parts, you know. Good-looking, great job, beautiful home. Lucky you.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Grace was quick to assure her. “The other day, his daughter, Angela—or Summer Storm, as she calls her artist self—created some problems at Green Meadows.”
“So I heard.”
Sparrow Lake was a small town with an active rumor mill, Grace reminded herself. Probably everyone had heard. “I wanted to talk to Caleb about his daughter, to see if I could get some insight on why she painted that mural, and I learned he teaches environmental studies at the community college.”
“I know. I took a couple of his classes. Great teacher.”
Grace thought about telling Heather she’d been considering taking his classes, too, but something stopped her.
“At any rate,” Grace went on, “Caleb asked me about why we went green with the new community, and I offered to give him a tour of the place.”
“A tour that put a big smile on your face.”
“I enjoyed myself,” Grace admitted, then before Heather could question her more indicated the table along the wall. “That should give us enough room to spread out your blueprints, don’t you think?”
“That it does.”
Part of Grace wanted to continue discussing Caleb with someone who knew him—she wanted to learn more about him if she could—but she didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic about a man who didn’t necessarily feel the same way about her.
* * *
ANGELA WASN’T SPEAKING to him again, and Caleb was ready to pull out his hair.
He still couldn’t believe he’d come home the day before to find a rickety structure that passed for a sweat lodge in his yard. Not that he objected to the idea of his daughter building one, but she had been grounded for the entire spring vacation. Apparently she’d chosen to interpret what that meant for herself. He’d given her a stern lecture about following rules and taking responsibility. He’d been sorely tempted to order her to tear down the flimsy shelter before it fell down, especially when he’d learned she’d used their winter blankets to build it. But his daughter’s tearful, accusatory expression had torn at his heart. He’d merely told Angela she couldn’t use her sweat lodge until her punishment was over at the end of the week.
She’d refused to have dinner with him.
Or breakfast.
What was he going to do with her? They’d never been at odds like this until the past few weeks. He needed someone to talk to about his daughter—someone who could give him some guidance. A good reason to visit his mother. Angela wasn’t speaking to him anyway, so he was simply spinning his wheels walking through the house.
Stopping at her closed bedroom door, he raised his voice. “I’m going out for a while.”
No answer.
No big surprise.
“I expect you to stay inside the house.” He waited for a moment, then said, “I need to know that you heard me.”
“I heard you.”
Still sullen. What was he going to do with her? Hopefully Mom would give him some good ideas of how to handle his daughter. How to get her to open up and not simply in anger. He thought about calling Mom first, then just decided to surprise her.
Maddie Blackthorne was a member of the Sparrow Lake Chippewa Band on what was the smallest reservation in Wisconsin. The land was a little more than seven hundred acres, supported by three tiny family farms surrounding a single village. The band that had broken off from its Lake Superior cousins had fewer than a thousand members, only half of whom actually lived on the rez itself.
It was beautiful land, with a couple of hundred acres of meadows and unharvested old forest that he’d explored throughout his youth. His love of nature had inspired him to become an environmentalist. And a professor of environmental studies.
The Blackthorne family house was situated on a quarter acre halfway between the village proper and the untouched land. It was a simple two-bedroom with a living room and eat-in kitchen, but the garden surrounding the house would be spectacular in full bloom, the flowers intermixed with rows of vegetables. Caleb had helped his mother start the garden when he was a kid, before he’d begun finding ways to get himself into trouble.
He’d barely parked the truck before his mother came out of the house to greet him. She smoothed back the silver wings of her long blue-black hair, caught in the back with a clip. She was wearing her usual jeans with a long-sleeved pullover sweater. Mom’s clothing was always practical. A social worker, she spent her life taking care of other people rather than fussing over herself. He appreciated her dedication but wished she would fuss just a little. She deserved it.
“Hey, Mom.” Stepping up to the porch, he threw his arms around her.
She gave him a big hug. “This is certainly a surprise.”
“I needed to talk to someone with more wisdom than I have.”
“Angela?”
He nodded.
“C’mon in. I have a fresh pot of coffee to go with the acorn bread I made this morning.”
Caleb’s mouth was already watering as he followed her inside. “Any of that rhubarb ginger jam left?”
“Of course. You know I always make enough to last until the next rhubarb crop comes in.”
The acorn bread must have come out of the oven a short while ago, because the wonderful smell still filled the air. The kitchen was old-fashioned, a combination of wooden cabinets and shelves with speckled laminate countertops and ancient white appliances. Caleb loved Mom’s kitchen, because it felt like home. She’d said it felt like home, too, when he’d offered to buy her a new stainless steel stove and refrigerator, saying that would be a waste while the old ones still worked. While his mother sliced the bread, Caleb poured them mugs of coffee and fetched half-and-half, butter and the jam from the fridge. When everything was on the table, they sat opposite each other in comfortable silence for several minutes until they’d spread thick slices of bread with butter and jam, and Caleb had taken a big bite.
“Delicious,” he murmured as he chewed. “Your cooking always makes me feel better.”
“What did Angela do this time?”
Caleb took another bite and washed it down with coffee before answering. “You know I grounded her, which by that I meant study. Instead, she went outside and built a sweat lodge that looks like it would fall over if someone bumped into it.”
“Well, I would say that’s educational.”
“She wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”
“Perhaps she thought ‘house’ included the property, too.”
“Mo-o-om.”
“She’s so much like you were before you became a father.” His mother grinned at him. “It’s kind of just retribution.”
Caleb scowled. “That isn’t helpful.”
“But just a little satisfying to me, honey.”
Finishing the slice of acorn bread, Caleb muttered, “What am I going to do with her? She keeps defying me and getting into trouble. I’m afraid that if I can’t find a way to reason with her, she’s going to go too far.” He sighed. “What is it with teenagers?” Including his younger self. “Why do they all seem to go crazy?”
Maddie laughed. “It’s called hormones. A body that’s mostly adult combined with a mind that’s mostly child.” She added, “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach.” Her smile faded into a more serious expression.
“Wrong approach?” Was she going to place the blame in his corner? He couldn’t help feeling defensive. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so demanding with Angela that it surely backfires on you. You need to listen to your daughter, to understand what it is she wants. What is important to her.”
“You mean this new kick about her becoming an artist?”
“It’s not new, Caleb. She started drawing the moment she could use a crayon. You’ve been displaying her artwork for years.”
“That’s what you do when your kid creates something for you.”
“Even if you don’t like it?”
“I never said that. I love it. She has incredible potential. But thinking you can make a living as an artist isn’t practical.”
“So you dash her dreams.”
“What should I do? Encourage her to live in poverty? Being an artist doesn’t bring in a regular income. I keep trying to tell her she needs to have a real job and that she can do her art on the side.”
“Which makes her dream sound unimportant. An afterthought.”
“If I could make it work for her, I would.”
“Then try to help her find a way. There are jobs with regular incomes for trained artists. Help her see that she can channel her creativity to something that will support her like graphic arts—or teaching art—while she creates a portfolio that she can take to art shows or galleries. When you tell her to do art on the side, it sounds...dismissive. Be positive and supportive instead of demanding she do things your way all the time.”
Mom had a point. He could be gruff, he supposed. “All right. I’ll think about how I can do that.”
“Good.” Mom held out a plate to him. “More bread?”
“Did you think I might say no?” He took another piece.
As he spread the butter and jam, he realized his mother was staring at him intently. “Something on your mind, Mom?”
“So what’s going on with you lately? Terese Kistler said she saw you with the Huber woman walking through Green Meadows yesterday. Were you making peace over Angela?”
The reminder of their private walk through the development warmed Caleb inside. “As a matter of fact, Grace offered to give me a tour of Green Meadows, so I could see how it’s progressing. I was very impressed.”
“With the development or with Grace?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Both, actually.” Though he’d already realized his attraction to the woman was hopeless until he straightened things out with his daughter.
“Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t.” He quickly tried to backtrack before his mother made a big deal of it. “We simply have a lot in common. Environment-wise, that is.”
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a challenging expression. “So you don’t actually like Grace? As a woman, I mean.”
“Yes, I like her.”
“Then you’ll ask her out.”
He shook his head. “The timing is all wrong.”
“Because she’s seeing someone else?”
“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. It’s not her, it’s me.” He sighed and set his acorn bread back on the plate. “Rather, it’s Angela.”
“So Angela doesn’t like her.”
“Angela doesn’t really know her.” But that didn’t prevent Caleb from assuming the worst. He couldn’t count on anything when it came to his daughter these days.
“Then what’s the problem?” his mother asked.
“Lily is the problem. I told you about the mural. When I tried to talk to Angela about defacing private property, it turned into something else. She admitted she thought I took her mother from her. I explained what happened, but at the moment she’s obsessed with feeling abandoned. I have no idea where this is coming from. Teenage imagination, I guess. I just don’t see how I can bring another woman into the mix right now.”
“Angela might not like it at first, but she’ll come around. She has before. You dated several women while you were in school.”
“None were serious.”
“So this Grace Huber...” His mother cleared her throat. “You could be serious about her?”
Caleb started. Not a question he’d asked himself. Not one he wanted to explore too deeply right now. “Mom, you’re jumping the gun. I like her, but I haven’t even asked her out on a date.”
“Then maybe it’s time you did something about that.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_c1e3ec91-2470-54c3-82e4-20c2420effd4)
“I WANT A big stack of pancakes with lots of whipped cream,” Taylor announced as they left Heather’s van parked just down the street from the co-op. “With cherries on top.”
“I’m not sure they have whipped cream, sweetie, and I know they won’t have cherries,” Heather told the child. Then she explained to Grace. “Cherries on top are her new thing. Rick bought a big jar of maraschino cherries to put on everything...mashed potatoes, broccoli, cottage cheese.” She grinned, probably thinking of her hunky new husband. “He’s spoiling both twins.”
“We’re not spoiled.” Addison slipped her hand into Grace’s and smiled up at her like a little angel. The eight-year-old looked incredibly cute with a missing tooth. Grace smiled back and squeezed. “I just want mine completely plain,” the girl said. “Not even syrup.”
Taylor made a face. “Yuck.”
“Come on,” chided Heather. “People have different tastes. Just because you like whipped cream doesn’t mean Addison has to like it.”
“O-o-okay.” Taylor flounced along, then tossed her head. “But pancakes are better with whipped cream.”
“No, they’re not,” singsonged Addison.
Heather frowned. “Shh!”
They stepped up on the sidewalk and walked toward the co-op about a block away. There were so many cars parked in downtown Sparrow Lake that they’d had to hunt for a space, because of the festival. Heather spoke to several people they met on the way, introducing Grace, who appreciated the friendly gesture. Not that she would be able to remember all the new names.
A whizzing sound made all of them glance behind them. A boy on a skateboard approached swiftly, drawn by a very large, spotted Great Dane on a leash. As the dog and skateboard whizzed past in a flurry of huge paws and wheels, Heather drew Taylor closer, keeping her out of the way.
The little girl stared openmouthed. “Wow!”
“We could do that with Kirby!” cried Addison.
“No, we’re not getting a skateboard so you can hitch it to the dog,” Heather told them firmly. “It’s too dangerous.” She turned to Grace. “And that kid is a danger, too. He could have knocked us off the sidewalk!”
Grace merely nodded, smiling, but the twins continued to jabber about the big dog until they reached the co-op building, an old storefront with an entrance refinished with brick. A line of people stood outside, waiting to go in.
“Wow, Pancake Day must be popular,” murmured Grace. She’d dressed down for the occasion, as Heather had suggested, forgoing her usual business attire for loose black trousers, a short-sleeved blue cashmere sweater and a leather moto jacket.
Heather nodded. “Free food. Don’t worry, the line will move fast. There are at least two pancake stations set up.”
“Ooh,” said Addison. “I smell sausage.”
“And bacon,” added Taylor.
“Yes,” agreed Heather. “You can have both if you want. Consider this ‘dunch’ or ‘linner,’ okay? We won’t need anything else but a small snack before you go to bed tonight.”
The line did move quickly and they were soon inside, heading down a hallway toward the main room. There, long tables had been set up for people to sit and eat, and other tables formed a barrier near the walls where grills were being manned to cook mounds of pancakes and breakfast meats. As they approached the nearest pancake station, Grace glanced back at the townspeople already eating, laughing and chatting. All the cooks were men, people she’d seen around town and who Heather had said were employed by the co-op or the creamery. Two tables were set up with butter and cream...but no whipped cream. Taylor stood on her tiptoes and looked around. Addison laughed and did a little whirl.
Grace grinned. “They sure have a lot of energy.”
“You’d think some of it would wear off as they get older, but the girls just seem to find more,” Heather said with a laugh.
“There’s ice cream over there,” Taylor told her mother. “Vanilla soft-serve.”
“Well, maybe we can get you some of that,” said Heather.
The twins stopped talking as they both got plates of pancakes. Addison ordered a stack of two but Taylor wanted three.
“Honey, I think two will be enough for you. Those pancakes are pretty big.”
“I want three!”
“You’d better eat them.” Heather lowered her voice in an aside to Grace. “Or not. I don’t want her to get sick.”
Grace just laughed and ordered a stack of three for herself. She also got three strips of bacon and three sausage links.
Then they turned toward the tables in the center of the room, most of them already full. Apparently the whole town turned out for Pancake Day, so Grace looked for the one face she would be happiest to see.
Disappointed.
Apparently the whole town had turned out except for Caleb Blackthorne.
As they sat down, Heather began introducing her to the people around them, and if they owned or operated a business, she included that information, as well. Grace tried to mentally keep track of everything Heather told her, but she feared she’d already forgotten half of what she’d been told. Then Heather realized they’d forgotten drinks and got up to fetch glasses of milk for the girls and two cups of coffee for themselves.
Taylor dug into her food hungrily. She’d gotten a cup of soft-serve ice cream, which she dumped on top of her pancakes. Addison cut her plain pancakes into dainty pieces and chewed equally daintily. Grace wondered how two sisters born at the same time could be so different.
“Slow down,” Heather told Taylor, “or you might end up with a tummy ache.”
Grace spread fresh creamery butter on her pancakes and laced them with syrup. “Yum. I can see why so many people turn out for Pancake Day.”
Heather bit into a piece of crisp bacon. “It’s not just the food, it’s the sense of community, of everyone taking a short break from work to celebrate spring with friends and family and catch up with people they don’t often get to talk to.”
Looking around, Grace saw so many smiles, heard so much laughter, that she couldn’t help but grin. Never having experienced anything like this in Milwaukee, where neighbors didn’t necessarily even know each other—Grace was acquainted with only one other woman in her condo building—she responded to the positive energy in the room. There were a lot of things she liked about Sparrow Lake, and the feeling of community just went to the top of her list. She imagined that even if you lived alone, you would never have to be lonely in a friendly town like this.
Heather had been right about her coming to the event. Several people wanted to know how the green community was faring, and others asked what her plans for the future might be. Lots of interested questions from potential residents or simply people who might help spread the word to friends in nearby towns. People came and went, but the twins went back for second helpings, so, content to stay awhile longer, Grace fetched another cup of coffee.
Just as she brought it back to the table, she looked up to see a familiar face. Three familiar faces, in fact. Caleb had arrived with Angela and Kiki. They had just filled their plates with food and were looking around for a place to sit. As if he knew she was staring at him, Caleb turned in her direction. Their gazes met and her stomach did a little flip when his lips turned up in a big smile aimed her way. She waved. Then Angela saw her, and the girl’s lips tightened.
“C’mon,” Grace heard Caleb say to his daughter and her friend. “There’s room over there.”
Over there was across from her and Heather and the twins. Grace sent him a welcoming smile. “Hi, Caleb.”
“Grace, Heather...good to see you, both,” he said as he set down his food.
“You, too, Caleb,” Heather said.
Grace’s pulse thrummed. “I was hoping we might run into each other.”
Caleb took the seat directly across from Grace, Angela and Kiki reluctantly joining him. Caleb introduced the women to the girls. Angela didn’t say anything, simply slapped down her plate and threw herself into her chair. Kiki avoided looking at anyone.
Oh, great. Talk about awkward. Grace figured the teenagers recognized her from the mural incident.
As if he didn’t notice his daughter’s attitude, Caleb gave her cup of coffee and empty plate a quick look. “I take it you already ate.”
“More like overate,” Grace said. “But it was delicious, worth every calorie.”
He eyed her more thoroughly. “Not that you need to worry about it.”
Grace started to laugh until she noted Kiki’s sour expression. Definitely aimed her way.
A loud bam startled them all, and Grace turned to see the twins near a food table, an entire bowl of butter turned upside down at their feet.
“Oh, no,” Heather groaned, pushing herself away from the table. “I knew something had to happen. Things were too peaceful.”
Grace laughed. “It’s probably an accident. They didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
But then she noticed Addison stooping to pick up a glob of butter with one finger and promptly flinging it at her sister. Heather bore down upon the pair and Grace turned back to her food, not wanting to watch the twins get reprimanded. Even an angelic-looking child could be naughty, she guessed.
Caleb grinned and gave his daughter a penetrating look. “They can get into trouble no matter the age.”
At which point Angela turned her back on him and went forehead to forehead with Kiki, whispering. Caleb merely rolled his eyes and continued smiling at Grace, who felt a sudden attack of butterflies whirl through her stomach.
She said, “I understand Pancake Day is a tradition.”
“I’ve been here every year since I moved into town.”
“I can understand why. It’s a lot of fun, and you get to see people you probably don’t see often.” Like him. She was definitely glad she’d run into Caleb. She hadn’t met a man who interested her this much in ages. “Are there other community events like this?”
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Lynn Patrick
Preserving nature. Growing love. Can they do both?Grace Huber has no interest in taking over the reins of her father’s successful development company. Instead, she’s busy building a dream of her own: A “green” housing community in Wisconsin’s Sparrow Lake. Educator and conservationist Caleb Blackthorne is not only on the same page, the handsome single father tempts goal-oriented Grace to take time out to smell the flowers. But Caleb’s rebellious teenage daughter keeps throwing obstacles in their path. And when Caleb’s long-gone ex-wife shows up, along with rumors of ghostly sightings that threaten the future of Green Meadows, Grace fears she may lose all the things that matter most to her.
Preserving nature. Growing love. Can they do both?
Grace Huber has no interest in taking over the reins of her father’s successful development company. Instead, she’s busy building a dream of her own: a “green” housing community in Wisconsin’s Sparrow Lake. Educator and conservationist Caleb Blackthorne is not only on the same page, the handsome single father tempts goal-oriented Grace to take time out to smell the flowers. But Caleb’s rebellious teenage daughter keeps throwing obstacles in their path. And when Caleb’s long-gone ex-wife shows up, along with rumors of ghostly sightings that threaten the future of Green Meadows, Grace fears she may lose all the things that matter most to her.
Caleb looked at Grace. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.” She smiled, but he still felt the tension between them. It had been a long day.
“Things might get even messier,” he warned. “I hope you’ll bear with me.”
Grace stepped toward him. “If you’re honest about your intentions, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” And he drew her closer to kiss her.
Her lips were soft and she wound her arms around his neck. For a moment, the day’s problems and irritations melted away. Grace felt so good in his arms. He wished they never had to return to reality.
Dear Reader (#ulink_9f4fa04f-826d-5e97-94d7-250de2bd74bc),
In Home for Keeps, a couple characters are frustrated by parents who don’t support them in working at what they love in life. Both of us, the coauthors of this story, were warned by our protective parents that making a living in a creative profession was impractical.
Patricia wanted to work in theater...then in television production...then as a romance writer. Because she’d had similar youthful desires, her mother empathized. Even so, she urged Patricia to get a teaching degree so that she always had a job. Patricia didn’t exactly follow that dictum, but she did work in educational television for nearly two decades, even as she wrote romances and became a published author...and eventually, a college-level fiction writing teacher, as well.
Linda wanted to be an artist and a writer. Although nobody else in her family had graduated from college, they urged her to pick up a teaching degree as a backup plan. She started out as a high school art teacher, went on to write romances and then got into teaching writing at the college level. Throughout, she has done artwork and used the creativity she developed in art classes to make life more interesting.
We believe that people should do what they love...and that it never hurts to have a practical option to earn a living. Hopefully, you’ll see something of yourself or someone you love in Grace and Caleb’s story.
Good reading!
Lynn Patrick
Home for Keeps
Lynn Patrick
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LYNN PATRICK is the pseudonym for two best friends who started writing together a few decades ago. Linda is a professor with a reading specialty, and Patricia writes as Patricia Rosemoor. Together they enjoy creating worlds that are lightened by the unexpected, fun and sometimes wonderful vagaries of real life.
Contents
COVER (#u95a705e5-b412-5581-81b3-3c764b39873a)
BACK COVER TEXT (#u29f19091-966d-5843-a298-85584552c42d)
INTRODUCTION (#u0b76fe48-18d9-58a8-99dd-cacf0f191f3e)
Dear Reader (#uddecfc13-ebe4-5e86-b7bc-6f8ee2869a19)
TITLE PAGE (#u3315cbb3-054f-500f-af24-82314451889f)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u4653ea3a-4b18-5218-beed-7d6f2c52ff92)
PROLOGUE (#u3b4f5ebb-caf3-536d-80e8-5612c4ede6a5)
CHAPTER ONE (#u0e8e2f22-374e-5eb0-813c-a986fb97f184)
CHAPTER TWO (#uaafdec32-1309-5d53-9660-83a672f90a99)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud1928b2d-41a6-5138-be2b-77afed2b94c4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u0c6b3053-455f-5b98-9c2c-271d8f57fd60)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u8666d4df-ad22-54d0-9cef-b9f4f033af97)
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)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_50e57c74-f5b0-5300-bf2d-8f21ce70f5b9)
JUST AS NELLIE MARTIN opened the kitchen door to empty her garbage, her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose. Stopping to punch them in place, she jerked when a ball of fur streaked through her legs. Her fifteen-year-old cat had just gotten out! There she went, all twenty pounds of her tottering straight into the dark.
“Olive!” Trying not to panic, Nellie dropped the garbage bag and followed.
She’d moved from a two-story home to a first-floor apartment in Sparrow Lake’s new green community only a week ago, and her cat had never been outside here. Oh, dear, what if she got lost?
Her pulse pounding, Nellie yelled, “Olive, you naughty girl, you come back here!”
How could such a rotund cat move like that? With her arthritic knees complaining, Nellie couldn’t move fast enough to catch up to the old girl. And where did Olive think she was going anyway? The area outside the apartment building was woodsy. Wisps of fog rose from the ground, making it a little scary at night. Imagining a coyote darting from the dark and snatching her beloved pet for dinner, she forced her legs to go faster. Even so, the cat slinked around a tree and then simply disappeared.
“Olive, sweetheart, please!”
Where had she gone? Nellie’s heart was in her throat as she slowed to scan the area. Nothing! Then through the fog, she saw movement.
“There you are,” she muttered, heading in that direction.
But the shape ahead turned into something other than a cat. A pale, floaty figure shot from one tree to another.
Oh, dear, it looked like...like a...a...!
Starting, Nellie couldn’t take her eyes from the vision, not until her foot hooked on something hard and heavy. Then she went flying, arms waving, but unable to regain her balance.
“Ohhhhhh!”
Landing on both hands and knees, Nellie saw stars from the pain. She couldn’t see anything else because her glasses had flown off her face and everything was a big blur. She gasped for breath. Tried to move. Sobbed from the pain as she felt around for her glasses.
Sobbed some more for the loss of her cat.
“Oh, Olive, how am I ever going to find you now?”
“Meow...”
Nellie’s eyes widened. “Olive?” She found her glasses and put them on just as her cat strolled up to her and gave her a full-body rub.
Grabbing Olive, Nellie kissed her head and clung to her furry companion with all her strength. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get to her feet without letting go. If she put Olive down, the naughty girl might take off again.
Fog swirled around them both, reminding Nellie of the distraction, the cause for her fall. She knelt there, cradling a now-purring Olive, her gaze scanning the area. She saw nothing amiss...yet...
Could the rumors be true?
Did a ghost really haunt the new development?
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a1ce69b6-78a0-55fc-b7fc-fa74d73719ff)
RUMOR HAD IT that Walworth Builders was responsible for Nellie Martin’s fall while chasing down her cat the night before, and there was speculation that Nellie was going to sue.
Sue for what? Grace Huber wondered, zooming out of Sparrow Lake proper and heading for Green Meadows. She hadn’t heard the nature of Nellie’s injuries, but the woman was up in years and a little frail. Concerned that Nellie might be more hurt than she’d let on, Grace wanted to make sure she was all right in person. And she wanted to take care of Green Meadows, as well. She’d found a new passion in building with the environment in mind, having talked her father into developing the “green” community, which combined condos, rental apartments and semidetached homes, all constructed with sustainable materials and heated with solar energy.
So it was no wonder that she wanted to deal with the problem herself.
Green Meadows didn’t need bad publicity, and she didn’t want her perfect community ruined by a lawsuit. She needed to work this out so Nellie was properly taken care of without the development being in jeopardy.
Turning off the main road, she entered Green Meadows and headed straight for the community center, where Nellie had agreed to meet with her. She was almost there when she realized a crowd had gathered outside in the parking lot. Because Nellie had been badly hurt? Worried, she pulled into the lot, left her car and made her way through the throng, only to stop when she saw the reason for the commotion. Taking a good look at the previously blank side wall of the building, Grace started. The community center had been constructed using repurposed wood plus stone from the local quarry, and the stuccoed side wall now boasted a large mural. In it, a woman walked away from prison bars separating her from the girl who was reaching for her.
“You ruined our community center!” a man cried.
“You two ought to be arrested!” a woman added.
It took Grace a moment to realize residents had surrounded two teenage girls. One looked like a wild punk rocker with dyed black hair, black eye makeup and lipstick. The other appeared more subdued, naturally dark hair pulled back from a makeup-free face that hinted of a Native American heritage. She held a paintbrush in hand.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” the punk rocker said. “They don’t appreciate your talent, Summer Storm.”
The girl did seem stormy when Grace stepped closer for a better look.
“Talent?” a woman said. “She defaced our property! Someone call Police Chief Novak!”
“What’s so wrong?” the young artist protested. “The development will look better with a mural! And they don’t even have to pay me for it.”
The sound of a truck squealing to a stop made Grace turn away for a second. She watched as a man with a rugged profile and blue-black hair worn to his shoulders jumped out. He was probably six feet and appeared powerful, if not broad. His tan shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealed arms roped with the muscle of someone acquainted with hard work.
“Grab the girl,” a woman called out. “We can bring her to the police ourselves.”
That pulled Grace’s attention back to the situation. “Wait a minute, no one is grabbing anyone!”
Now that she was closer to the artwork, she was stunned by the ferocity of emotion in the mural and knew it had nothing to do with beautification. The teenager herself wore a defiant expression, but Grace couldn’t miss the haunted look in her eyes. What had happened to make her so angry?
Before she could do anything to find out, the man from the truck stepped in. When he took the girl’s arm, she protested, “Dad!”
She struggled, but he didn’t free her. His dark-eyed gaze aimed straight at Grace when he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later to make sure this mess is taken care of.”
“Mess?” Summer Storm jerked her arm to no avail. “Taken care of? What do you mean, Dad? You’re going to ruin my mural, aren’t you?”
As he hauled his daughter off to his waiting truck, the man said, “I’m not the one who has explaining to do.”
Grace stared after them, wondering why she’d never noticed the attractive man around town before. He was definitely unforgettable.
“Are you going to let her get away with this atrocity?” someone in the crowd asked Grace. “Do something!”
Grace sighed and tried to muster a smile. “It’s time for everyone to go about your business. Don’t worry, I will get everything in hand.”
As the group dispersed, another person muttered, “You need to have both of those girls arrested.”
Girls. What happened to the other one? Grace wondered as she looked around. The punk rocker was nowhere to be seen. She’d disappeared while the going was good. Pints of different-colored acrylics that Summer Storm had used to paint the mural had been left behind in a carry carton, along with painting knives and brushes on a tray.
Several of the residents remained, undoubtedly waiting to see how she would solve the problem. Not knowing what to do with the girl’s paint supplies, Grace gathered them together and set them on one of the outdoor tables.
“Do any of you know the girl’s father?” she asked the onlookers.
“Name’s Caleb Blackthorne,” a man said. “He and his daughter live a half mile right down the road.” He pointed east. “They have one of them fancy new type A-frames set back from the road. Look hard to the left. You can just see it through the trees.”
“Thanks.”
The Blackthornes lived so close, she would deliver the supplies in person. And maybe get a bead on what was troubling the girl. Painting that mural on the development’s property made it Grace’s business. Then she spent the next several minutes rounding up a couple of workers and a neutral-color paint. Her chest tightened as she watched the men start to obliterate the mural that obviously must have meant something to Summer Storm. Once again, she wondered what had made the girl express her unhappiness so publicly.
Not that she had long to think about it. A van pulled up, its side scribed with Kenosha Journal in fancy lettering. Oh, great. What a terrible time for a reporter to show up. It took everything Grace had to smile at the man who alighted from the vehicle. She assumed the reporter was interested in the green community—it had already been featured in news reports in southern Wisconsin. Surely no one had called in the story about the mural.
“Hi. I’m Grace Huber with Walworth Builders. Green Meadows is our development. Can I help you?”
“Hope so. You can tell me about the latest ghost sighting.”
Grace had to scramble mentally to change subjects. “Ghost sighting?” She’d heard the rumor about there being a ghost flitting around the complex at night, but of course that was ridiculous. Why would a newspaper be interested?
“Nellie saw it last night,” an elderly woman stated. “That’s why she took a tumble.”
Nellie? The name jarred Grace into remembering why she’d come to the community center in the first place. She managed to sputter, “Nellie didn’t say anything to me about seeing a ghost.”
“Well, she did!” the woman’s companion added. “That’s why she fell on that rubble your crew left in the area. She told me she was distracted by something weird moving through the trees and her foot caught on a piece of discarded flagstone.”
The reason people were talking about Nellie suing Walworth Builders.
“Maybe Nellie has a few problems with her sight,” Grace said, remembering the older woman’s large glasses. “She’s probably confused if she thought whatever startled her could be a ghost.”
“How do you know?” another man asked. “There were rumors about the old farmhouse that used to be here being haunted.”
“Really,” the reporter murmured, zeroing in on the man.
Grace got between them. This was ridiculous. “There’s no story here. One of our residents had a little mishap chasing her cat last night. That’s all.”
“That’s all? I’d like to talk to her myself.”
Holding back a moan of dismay, knowing she couldn’t stop the annoying reporter, Grace forced another smile. She’d wanted to speak to Nellie alone, to get the whole story without an audience to egg her on. Now that was out of the question.
“All right, then. Come with me.”
Though reluctant, she led him inside the community center, where she hoped she could run interference if the situation got out of hand.
* * *
CALEB BLACKTHORNE WAS royally ticked at his daughter getting into a mess again with her edgy little friend Kiki Johnson. He might feel sorry for the foster kid, but he wished Angela would stay away from her and what he saw as a negative influence. Kiki was always getting into some kind of trouble, and lately, so was Angela.
“Are you ready to explain yourself, young lady?”
He gave Angela a quick glance, long enough to see her mouth tighten before she turned her head away from him to stare out the side window in silence.
“What were you thinking, defacing private property?” Surely she would have something to say in response to that.
But no, the silence continued.
“And why would you go to Green Meadows in the first place? You don’t know anyone there.” The development was so new that only half of the units were even in use at this time.
More silence. Obviously his daughter didn’t mean to speak to him. Something that was becoming very familiar lately. This talk would have to be continued. She couldn’t go around doing whatever she wanted. He would be lucky if she didn’t get arrested this time, a distinct possibility. Something he would do anything to avoid.
What happened to his little “Angel”? His daughter had changed, especially lately, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe he deserved this. His karma for giving his mother so much grief when he was a teen. Maddie Blackthorne had been and was a great mother and person, a social worker who helped the homeless on the local Chippewa reservation find housing and health care and jobs. He’d never met his father, who’d disappeared without even knowing his mother was pregnant. Though she’d been on her own, his mother had given him a settled, safe life.
Despite his trying to do the same for his daughter but with more money than his mom had been able to make, Angela was as wild as he had been at her age. Now that she’d done something illegal, how long would it be before the local police came to pick her up? Was there any way to avoid that happening?
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Whose idea was this stunt? Yours or Kiki’s? Why do you want to hang around with her?”
That did it—Angela came out of her silent funk, shouting, “No! I’m not going to stop seeing her. She likes the same things that I do. She understands me. Kiki is my best friend!”
He knew both the girls thought of themselves as artists. “And you’re the only friend she has. That girl is a bad influence on you.”
“I don’t care what you say. I won’t stop seeing her. You can’t take someone else away from me!”
“I didn’t take anyone away from you.”
“What about my mother?”
Caleb gritted his teeth at that. Angela had seemed okay that it had been just the two of them all these years. What had brought this up now?
“I didn’t make your mother leave.” At sixteen, he’d been a too-young father with an irresponsible baby mama. “She wanted you...” And then she hadn’t. Lily had run away, leaving a month-old baby girl in his arms. “...but she was really young and scared.”
“You always tell me what to do and make me do what you want. You could have made her stay.”
“I only wish that was true. Lily made a bad decision because she was so young, Angel. I’m sure she’s regretted it a million times over the years.” At least he wanted his daughter to believe that.
“Then why didn’t she come back for me?”
A question he’d never been able to answer.
And then it came to him. The mural. The woman walking away from the jailed girl—Lily walking away from Angela and Angela feeling helpless to do anything about it. That had to be it. Something had brought up a hornet’s nest of emotion in his daughter. Not hard to envision. Angela was fifteen now, questioning everything, especially him and anything he wanted for her. But why was her absentee mother suddenly so important to her?
He flicked a look over to his daughter, who once more was staring out the side window, her shoulders set so tight he knew she wouldn’t answer if he asked. He wondered if she would talk to her grandmother, tell her the truth. Mom was his go-to person when it came to Angela. His daughter never resented her grandmother the way she did him. He would call Mom as soon as they got home, then he would settle this mural mess.
But how to do that other than manage the cleanup?
The woman who’d told everyone that no one was grabbing his daughter had appeared to be in charge at Green Meadows. She seemed like a decent sort. Attractive, too, he thought, remembering her lush dark hair and the spark in her pretty blue eyes as she’d controlled the situation. A strong woman. One who didn’t shirk from responsibility.
When he went back to take care of the mural, he would look for her. Talk to her. See if she could help.
He would do it for his daughter.
Still, the thought of getting to know a woman like that was extra incentive.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a8b6e841-d94c-5b65-9b4a-0f0997d91ed2)
IT WAS STILL MORNING, and Grace felt wrung out from the stress of everything happening at once. At least the reporter looking for a ghost story had spent only a few minutes with Nellie before leaving in disappointment. Thankfully, Nellie hadn’t been able to give him any details other than having seen some kind of faint movement through the trees. Just as Grace had expected. Apparently some of the other residents had blown up what they’d heard into something more exciting.
The community center had an area with tables for the residents to get together. Sitting opposite the older woman, Grace winced when Nellie raised her soda can with a bandaged hand.
“That’s quite some experience you had last night, Nellie. I’m very sorry you were hurt.”
“I was just so worried about Olive disappearing. And I let myself get distracted.” Nellie shook her head and her big glasses wobbled on her nose so that she had to punch them back in place. “I don’t believe in ghosts. It probably was just fog and wind.”
Relief washed through Grace. But not because of Nellie’s disbelief in ghosts. It didn’t sound as if the older woman wanted to sue the company.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have a doctor check you out?” Grace asked her.
“For a bruised knee and scraped palms?” Her surprisingly sharp blue eyes, magnified by thick lenses, gave Nellie an owlish expression reinforced by small tufts of silver hair around her face. “Really, no, but thank you for your concern.”
“Of course I’m concerned about all the residents of our new community. I’m going to make certain that area around your apartment is cleared of any debris.”
Nodding, Nellie said, “That would be good. Now if that darned cat of mine will get it into her head to appreciate her new home, we’ll be fine.” She glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “Uh-oh, it’s time for me to go. I need to get to my shop. Nellie’s Treasures opens in half an hour.” She gathered up her things. “I don’t know what else I can tell you anyway.”
Grace still hadn’t been to Nellie’s consignment shop and now vowed to do so as soon as she had some free time. “I don’t have anything else to offer. I just wanted to find out what happened and to be sure that you were all right.”
Nellie got to her feet. “Like I said, I hope Olive doesn’t try to escape again. The new apartment is nice, but it’s so small compared to our old house. At least there are no stairs,” she said, putting a positive spin on the complaint.
The woman didn’t have a car, so Grace asked, “Can I give you a ride to your shop?”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m good. Walking is the only exercise I get these days.”
Grace followed Nellie out of the building and headed straight for the parking lot, where she picked up the abandoned art supplies from the table. By the time she carried them to her car, she was a little breathless. Just walked too fast, she told herself. Nothing to do with looking forward to meeting the impressive-looking Caleb Blackthorne. Wondering if she was also going to meet Mrs. Blackthorne, she drove out of the parking lot and onto the road.
She was doing this for Summer Storm. The supplies were simply an excuse. What she really wanted was some insight to the girl. Grace hadn’t had a perfect past herself, so she could recognize a kindred spirit. She didn’t know why that seemed so important to her. Didn’t know what she could or would do about it. Community residents wanted the young artist arrested. Grace wanted to know if she needed help.
Once past the development property, she slowed the car and began peering through the trees near the road, looking for a house.
She almost missed it.
A glimpse of windows made her hit her brake just as she came to the driveway. Her stomach fluttered as she turned in toward the house. Built of cedar and stone, the building blended well with its natural surroundings despite its wall of windows. A large deck around the front and east sides of the house. The steep roofline dotted with solar panels met straight vertical walls, so the modified A-frame had a second story. A beautiful home, one she would be proud to have as part of Green Meadows.
Grace parked and fetched the art supplies. By the time she got to the front door, it opened to reveal Caleb Blackthorne on the other side. He’d changed into worn jeans and an old T-shirt. Though he stood straight and still, the energy he gave off seemed dynamic. His expression was serious, brows seemingly ready to segue into a scowl, but Grace refused to let that intimidate her.
Her smile feeling a little stiff, she said, “Mr. Blackthorne, I’ve brought what’s left of your daughter’s art supplies. Is she home?”
“No, her grandmother came and got her. Let me take that from you.” He removed the supplies from her hands and nodded toward the inside of the house. “Come on in.”
Grace followed him into a great room—it went the full two stories, and she could see a loft area above. “Wow, this is much bigger than I imagined for an A-frame.”
“The new multistory designs are.” He set everything on the dining table. “Thanks, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself. I could have fetched all this when I took care of the mural. I was just getting ready to head back to Green Meadows.”
“Already looked after,” she told him. “I came because I wanted to talk to you about Summer Storm.”
“Her name is Angela.”
His expression did become a scowl now, though Grace wasn’t sure if his irritation was with her or with his daughter.
“Okay, Angela, then,” she said.
“I only recently learned that she’s calling herself ‘Summer Storm.’ My daughter feels she needs a more exotic name to identify her as an artist.”
Grace heard the increased tension in his voice on the word artist. So he didn’t like his daughter’s ambition? Looking around at the art on the walls—her work, Grace assumed—she would never know it. Painted in broad, thick, colorful strokes that gave the paintings a life of their own, the artwork depicted the moods and intense beauty of nature. Some paintings seemed to be semirealistic landscapes; others were birds, a few with outstretched wings. The style wasn’t exactly abstract, but the artist had gone for emotion, not photographic reality.
“She has talent, that’s for sure,” Grace said sincerely, noting the tone of these paintings was far happier than the mural Angela had done that morning. She was glad she’d taken an art appreciation class so she had some basic understanding of expression in various mediums.
Caleb snorted. “Art, ha! How will my daughter make a living? She has no respect for my wishes or my hopes for her future. Whenever I tell her she needs to do something practical for a career and do her art on the side, she simply gets angry with me.” Making an exasperated sound, he pushed a wild strand of long hair back from his face. “Hey, I just made some iced tea. Can I get you a glass?”
“Sure. That would be great.” A reason to stay a little longer, so she could have a more in-depth conversation about Angela with him.
He moved into the open-concept kitchen area and grabbed two glasses from a shelf and filled them with ice from the refrigerator door. “Before Angela started calling herself Summer Storm, she was ‘Sights Lightning’ and before that, ‘Snow Falling.’” He poured the tea. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s ‘Looking for Trouble.’”
One look at his expression and the raised eyebrow and Grace grinned. She liked a man with a dry wit, especially when he could use it to counter his own feelings. He was obviously upset by his daughter’s action and was dealing with it in his own way. He handed her one of the glasses, and when he indicated the high chairs at the island, she slid onto one.
She sipped her iced tea. “I think all teenagers go through an identity crisis of some sort.”
“Yeah, that.” His voice was gruff. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning. My daughter has some issues, but why she went to Green Meadows to resolve them, I have no clue.”
“Is she unhappy about something in particular?”
“She’s fifteen.” He left it at that as if it would explain everything.
Which it sort of did to Grace, though she was certain there was more to it. But she was a stranger, and Caleb Blackthorne didn’t seem to be a man who liked to air his dirty laundry. He had his back up, but still, she couldn’t let it go.
“I was fifteen once, too. I did some things that made my dad a little crazy. But I had good reason.” Not that she wanted to tell a stranger her life story, either. “So I expect Angela had good reason for doing something so daring.”
Giving her an intent look, he said, “You seem to be in charge over there.”
“Sort of. Well, temporarily. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. Grace Huber. Walworth Builders is the family company. I’ll be in town overseeing things until Green Meadows is completed and more residents move in.”
He nodded. “About what happened, then...have you called the authorities?”
“No. I don’t want to handle it that way. I could see how upset your daughter was and I feel for her.” When Caleb gave her a questioning look, she said, “Remember, I was fifteen once, too.”
He heaved a sigh. “That friend she was with—Kiki—she’s always in trouble. It was probably her idea, convincing Angela to deface your property.”
“You really believe that?”
“Unfortunately, I do. The girl’s a problem. She doesn’t have anyone to stop her, either. Her dad overdosed on drugs and her mom’s in jail. She’s in a foster home.”
Grace couldn’t help but feel a pang. “How terrible!” But she wanted to talk about Angela. “Why does your daughter want to hang out with that girl? She was angry about something. And hurt. I could see it in her expression. In her eyes. Whatever her reason, it goes deeper than an irresponsible friend egging her on.”
Caleb sat stone-faced. She remained silent, hand tensed on her glass. Was he going to ask her to leave?
* * *
CALEB BIT BACK the urge to ask Grace to leave.
It wasn’t in his nature to open up to people he didn’t know well. Or to anyone, really, other than to his mother.
Grace Huber seemed to be a kind woman, concerned about his daughter. The ring of truth was in her words and her expression was sincere. She said she didn’t want to see Angela arrested. What did she want? Apparently something or she wouldn’t be here. No doubt, the truth to start.
It nearly choked him, but he said, “I think the girl behind bars in the mural was Angela, and the woman she couldn’t reach was her mother.”
Grace’s eyebrows rose. “So her mother’s not here. A recent divorce?”
He shook his head. “Never married. Lily ran off after Angela was born.”
“Oh.” Distress shadowed Grace’s expression, but she recovered quickly. “Then your explanation of the mural makes total sense.”
“Why now, though?” Caleb still couldn’t fathom it.
Had someone been talking to Angela about her mother? Lily’s parents had moved to a warmer climate after she’d disappeared. And there were no other relatives in the area. So who?
He said, “She’s rarely asked about her mother in all these years.”
“But now she’s fifteen. A fifteen-year-old girl needs a mother.”
Hearing a catch in Grace’s voice, Caleb started. She didn’t even know his daughter. “That’s something I can’t do for her. I’ve never heard from her mother since she ran off. I have no idea where to find her. And I can’t even make Angela realize what she did at Green Meadows was wrong.”
“I guess all you can do is keep trying. Talk to her. Support her.”
“Exactly what I’ve been doing all these years!” He hadn’t meant to show his irritation, and he could see his flare of anger threw Grace off. “Hey, sorry. I’m just at my wits’ end with all these changes in Angela.”
“Obviously this is a more difficult time in your daughter’s life than you’ve experienced before.”
Which was true, Caleb thought. Calmer now, he said, “Hopefully my mother can get through to her. She has more influence with Angela than I do these days.” He took a slug of his tea, but it tasted sour going down. “Whatever it cost to remove the mural, I’m good for it. Just let me know how much.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I pay my own way.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” He toyed with his glass, spinning it halfway around on the island. They were done here, but for some reason, he didn’t want Grace to leave yet. Didn’t want to be alone to torture himself with what-ifs about his daughter. So, he said, “I want you to know I admire the work you’re doing at Green Meadows.”
“Thank you. It’s been a challenge, but very rewarding.”
“How did you get interested in green living?”
“I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors. Hiking. Biking. Boating.” Things her father didn’t care about and didn’t like her doing. “So I started looking for ways to help keep the planet healthy. Recycling. Composting. Adding little things to make my place earth-friendly.”
“Sounds like a great start. Not everyone is open to change.” Another thing to appreciate about her.
“Until now, our company built single-family homes and moderate-sized apartment buildings. Then Dad got this idea to create a whole development in an area that had open spaces but was still commuter distance from cities like Kenosha and Milwaukee. A place where people could live while they worked and then could retire in comfort. He’s been thinking about that a lot lately—retiring.”
Caleb realized her tone shifted on that last thought, as if it bothered her. “And he wanted it to be a green community?”
She shook her head. “That was my doing. I’d been reading about ways to build green, and I got on board. Not everyone in Sparrow Lake seems to be in love with the idea of the new development, but I think most people are coming around.”
“I was eager to see what would happen when I heard about the proposal. I teach environmental studies at the community college.”
“Really. Oh, I love it! I should take one of your classes.”
Her sudden enthusiasm made him smile. “We’re two-thirds of the way through spring semester now, but you can sign up for a course this summer. They start at the beginning of June. Well, if you’ll still be here then.”
“I will be here, at least until fall, so I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “We’re just completing a half-dozen town houses. And starting the landscaping with an environmental company. The woman in charge lives in Sparrow Lake. Maybe you know her. Heather Scofield.”
“I do. I mean, I don’t know Heather well, but she took a couple of my classes, and we’ve talked a bit at some regional environmental meetings.”
“Have you taken a personal look at Green Meadows?” Grace asked. “I mean, other than this morning.”
“No, haven’t had the opportunity.”
“Let me know when you have some time available. I’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”
“Thanks. Real nice of you.” He noticed her glass was empty. “Can I refill that?”
“Thanks, but no. I should get going.” She slid off her chair. “I need to get to the office.”
Caleb rose and walked her to the door. “Thanks for bringing Angela’s supplies. And for taking care of the cleanup. And most of all, for being concerned about my daughter.”
“No problem. If there’s anything I can do to help...”
“...I’ll let you know.”
She left. Caleb remained at the window and watched as she got into her car and drove away.
An interesting and compassionate woman.
One he hoped to see again.
Soon.
* * *
GRACE LEFT THE Blackthorne property but couldn’t get thoughts of Caleb out of her mind. He intrigued her. He seemed to be a strong man, one who would do anything to protect his daughter. Not unlike what her father had done for her when she was a teenager.
Despite the fact that it was a Saturday, she headed for the office, admiring an open field full of dandelions as she passed. She bet that the country roads around here sported wildflowers and all kinds of new growth. Birds would be making nests. She only wished she had time to drive around and look. The weekdays were so busy. There was always so much to catch up on.
They’d rented a storefront with offices for both her and her father in Sparrow Lake proper, directly on Main Street. She passed Nellie’s Treasures and a little farther down, Sew Fine, the quilting shop. The Walworth Builders satellite office was on the next block, directly across from The Busy Corner, which served a great breakfast and a decent lunch. After parking in a reserved space behind her office building, she entered, wondering if her father had heard about that morning’s excitement at the development.
“Morning, Carol,” she said.
“Grace, there you are, thank goodness.”
The receptionist wore a worried smile. Then again, Carol worried about everything and everyone, said it was the result of having raised five kids. Blamed them for the gray in her hair, though she was barely forty.
“Is something wrong?” Grace tried to keep tension from her voice, but Carol’s brows were knit together.
“Mr. Huber wants to see you,” she said in something just above a whisper. “He told me to send you in the moment you arrived.”
Oh, great. Wearing a forced smile, she entered her father’s office. Sitting behind a massive desk loaded with paper files, Henry Huber appeared every bit the successful businessman he was. His stocky build was minimized by tailor-made suits, which he wore even when visiting the construction site, and his dark hair laced with silver was professionally trimmed every other week.
“Hey, Dad, I heard you wanted to see me.”
He glared at her and looked as if he was ready to pop a cork. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve had people calling me the past couple of hours to complain.”
Uh-oh, he knew about the mural. Grace tried to divert him by asking, “You mean they’re bothering you about the ghost sighting? I talked to Nellie Martin. She really didn’t see anything other than some faint movement through the trees, maybe fog, but people are convinced the land is haunted.”
“Ignore them.” He carefully arranged a stack of paper in one of the trays on his desk. “I did hear a rumor about a murder...or similar in that old farmhouse we tore down. Whitman. That was the name of the old couple that lived there.”
“A murder?”
“Something that happened back nearly a century ago. Nobody could offer any proof, though. Probably just gossip.”
“A hundred years ago, huh?” Grace felt a bit relieved. “Yes, probably gossip.” People in small towns loved to talk.
“Whatever. It’s not important. What is important is taking care of our project now. I heard how well you did that this morning. Residents are complaining that you wouldn’t call the authorities and have those girls who defaced the property arrested.”
She should have known better. When her father had something he wanted to say, it was like a mission to him. “I did speak with the artist’s father—”
“Artist? You mean vandal!”
“She’s a kid, Dad. Her mother ran off and left her, and she’s upset about that. You remember what that was like, don’t you? You would have totally gotten it if you had seen the mural she painted.”
Her father’s mouth tightened.
She went on. “Caleb Blackthorne has taken this very seriously. He’s about out of his mind with worry for his daughter. I think he was terrified that I would have her arrested.”
Her father’s visage changed. He looked a little haunted himself. She knew he remembered the trouble she’d gotten herself in. It was a time in their lives that neither of them would ever be able to forget.
“Dad?”
“All right, all right! As long as they stay off the Green Meadows grounds.”
Grace was certain Caleb would do what he could to make sure Angela stayed in line. But she didn’t know about the other girl, Kiki. Still, she said, “They will,” with more certainty than she actually felt.
“Good. Then concentrate on the job. On what’s important, so you can slide behind my desk when I retire next year.”
Grace’s throat tightened. “You’re not going to retire, Dad. You would be too bored.” And thinking about whether he would retire or not was making him uptight.
“I want the pleasure of seeing what I’ve built become an enduring legacy for my family.”
“I understand you do.” Though Grace was not happy with the future he expected of her, she never could tell him that. “Now, I’ve got work waiting for me.”
While she enjoyed the public part of her job—dealing with people—she wasn’t so crazy about the executive part of it, particularly the never-ending meetings and financial planning for the future. The endless paperwork made her crazy, and she would do anything to avoid it. She wanted to expand her knowledge and get more personally involved in the green community, an idea that Dad continually criticized, making her keep her wishes to herself and resent him for it.
Her father waved her away, and she traded his office for her own, where she pulled out the proposal Heather had drawn up for the landscaping. Though she looked it over, she couldn’t focus. She kept glancing out the window, watching sparrows play tag as she thought about her future.
About her father telling her she was born to be his right hand, that her purpose in life was to run Walworth Builders when he was done serving his time.
She knew that position would have gone to her twin brother, if Michael had lived past thirteen. His death in a tragic boating accident drove her parents apart, and her mother had divorced her father and abandoned her when she’d moved to Minneapolis. She and her father had been left to go it on their own. That’s when she’d started acting out, getting herself into trouble. Like Angela, she’d been a handful, but her father had both protected her and put her back on the straight and narrow. And so, grateful, she felt very protective of the man who’d lost so much in life.
If only he wasn’t so demanding and grumpy. If only he didn’t tell her what she needed to do and how to do it. Her father really would retire one of these days. He expected her to take over as CEO at Walworth and, though it was the last thing she wanted, Grace knew she would do as he wished. Reaching up to close the blinds, she forced herself to stare at the papers in front of her.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_99571f46-ee42-546b-8775-bd5f1c6772c8)
“AREN’T YOU AFRAID your dad’s gonna kill you?” Kiki asked Angela on Monday morning, halfway through building a semitraditional sweat lodge a hundred yards from the house.
Angela glanced at her friend, who was decked out in her usual black clothes and makeup, but with new purple extensions flowing from her hair. “Dad grounded me, he said I had to stay home, but he didn’t say I had to stay inside.” It was her spring break, after all. The community college had been off the week before, so Dad was at work and she was theoretically alone. He’d probably have a cow if he knew Kiki was here. “Besides, he’ll have to see I’m doing something worthwhile.”
Even if her father wasn’t into Chippewa culture the way she was. And even if her true intention was to have a place to get away from him. She could come out here to avoid his lectures about how she needed to be practical, to plan for her future, about how she was always doing things the wrong way—which really meant she wasn’t doing things his way.
“What if he asks why you decided to build a lodge?” Kiki asked.
She wouldn’t tell him the truth. “I’ll say I was inspired the last time I stayed with Gran Maddie. He never argues with his mother about anything. He just can’t know you were here helping me. By the time he comes home from work, we’ll be finished. Too late for him to tell me to forget it.”
Kiki circled the half dome of saplings they’d tied together with twine. “Um, I hate to say it, but it looks a little crooked.”
Sighing, Angela agreed. “It does, but it’s my first try. It’ll have to do for now. Let’s get this stuff up.” She indicated the pile of tarps and blankets she’d collected from the house. “Blankets first. The tarps will keep them from getting wet when it rains.”
“Yeah, if you get to keep it up that long.”
Angela’s chest tightened. Dad had better not make her take her sweat lodge down! She didn’t know what she might do if he did.
They spent the next twenty minutes carefully aligning blankets and securing them to the frame, leaving an opening facing east, but with a flap she could lower for complete darkness. And privacy.
“So what did you do yesterday when Dad dragged me away from the mural?” Angela asked.
“Something fun.”
“What?”
“I got back at them—the creepy Green Meadows residents who wanted us arrested.”
“Kiki, what did you do?”
“I called someone who would be interested in murders and ghosts. Hopefully, he’ll scare them to death!”
Angela rolled her eyes. Wasn’t the mural enough for one day? “Are you sure you should have done that? If anyone finds out, you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“So? I’ve been arrested before. No biggie.”
Arrested. Angela shuddered as they began gathering large stones. She knew Kiki had been arrested for shoplifting once and had spent a day behind bars. She didn’t want that fate for herself. She’d hoped they could disappear before someone discovered they were painting a mural on that wall, and when they were caught, she’d really been afraid someone would call the cops.
Having borrowed the portable fire pit from the deck, she’d set it on its pad a dozen feet from the lodge. She layered the bottom with wood and covered it with the stones they’d gathered before starting the fire. They really should be volcanic rock, but she didn’t know where to get those, so fieldstone would have to do. While she filled a bucket with water and set it inside, Kiki dug a hole in the ground under the dome. Then they used shovels to move the hot rocks into the hole.
“That’s it. We’re ready.” Feeling a sense of accomplishment, Angela crawled inside, careful not to get too close to the heat.
Following suit, Kiki turned on a battery-operated light and lowered the flap.
“Ready?” Angela asked.
“I am if you are.”
Angela lifted the bucket and poured water onto the hot stones, filling the dome with steam. Wow, it really did get hot in there fast! She was already beginning to sweat. Then it was time to start the ceremony that would bring them closer together, as Native American tradition dictated. She’d researched sweat lodges. They weren’t going to strip off their clothes, but they’d worn tank tops under their shirts and bicycle shorts to help with perspiration. Kiki was already taking off her black cotton blouse.
On to the ceremony. According to the sources Angela had found on the internet, they were supposed to conduct a “talking circle.”
“Kiki, you start. Speak from your heart about your life and concerns.”
“What life? You know what I have to deal with. I guess that’s my concern, too.”
Angela knew that Kiki had drawn the short straw when it came to family, but somehow she’d held up under the negativity and was a good-hearted person anyway. And a really good friend.
“Isn’t there anyone out there for you?” she asked. “An aunt or an uncle? A cousin?”
“A grandmother. Somewhere.”
“You never told me that before!”
Kiki shrugged. “Why would I? It’s not like I know her. The last time I saw her I was seven. We were living in Chicago at the time. She and my mom had a big fight, and Mom told her she was leaving town and Grandma would never see either of us again.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know that.” And that meant Kiki’s grandmother didn’t have any idea her granddaughter was in trouble and needed her. “What’s her name?”
“Elizabeth Hartl. Why?”
“Maybe we could find her.”
“Why bother? She won’t want me around. No one does.”
Angela was sure Kiki’s foster mother had convinced her of that. “Well I want you around.” There had to be a way to find Kiki’s grandmother. Surely the woman wouldn’t want her granddaughter in some terrible foster home. Wanting to get her friend’s spirits up, she said, “Why don’t you speak about your dreams. Or anything that comes to you that puts a smile in your heart. What would make you really happy?”
“Okay... I wish... I wish I had a father like yours.”
“Like mine?” Angela choked out. Still angry with Dad, she was aghast. “But he’s always ordering me around!”
“Because he wants the best for you. He takes good care of you. You have a great bedroom and an art room, too.” Kiki’s voice rose to a squeak. “The only nice thing I have is my tattoo.”
“It really is beautiful,” Angela said, thinking of the roses tattooed on her friend’s hip. Despite being underage, Kiki had found someone to ink her.
“Most of all,” Kiki went on, “your dad’s here with you. And he loves you.”
“I’m sure your mom loves you. Your real mom, I mean.”
“A lot of good that does me with Mom locked up.”
“But she’ll get out. You’ll see her again in less than a year.”
“I hope so, but I don’t know,” Kiki said, sounding forlorn. “Sometimes I think it’ll never happen. I’ll never see her again.”
Angela could really identify with Kiki on that one. Both girls were silent for a moment.
Then Kiki asked, “What do you wish for?”
Angela took a deep breath. “Pretty much the same as you. I wish I had a mother who cared about me instead of running away from me all my life.” Her chest tightened and her stomach started to ache as she thought about it. “Even now, she can’t come to see me.”
“Are you certain your dad didn’t make it impossible for her?”
“Pretty certain.” After the talk they’d had the night before. Maybe Dad wasn’t to blame for her mother leaving her as she’d always believed. “So that means she just doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Well...if it’s true. Your mom being back could just be a rumor.”
“You’re right. Ever since I heard Gran Maddie’s neighbor talk about ‘that Lily Trejo having the nerve to show her face on the rez again,’ I’ve been asking around. No one will admit to actually having seen my mother except for old Jasper, who sits outside the municipal building most days, and he’s not the most reliable person.”
“Do you think he lied when he said he saw your mom on Green Meadows property?”
“No, not lied. But Jasper has his good days, and other times...” She shrugged. Something in her wanted to believe...
The real reason she’d painted the mural had been to send a message to her absentee mother, assuming she really was back and had gone to Green Meadows.
Another purpose for the lodge: she could come out here to simply think about the mother she’d never met and without interference figure out what to do next to try to find her.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING WAS BUSY, as usual, but after showing a potential buyer to the office door, Grace glanced out the windows just as Caleb Blackthorne entered The Busy Corner across the street. He looked every bit the confident male in his jeans and leather jacket and boots. His long hair was tied back with what appeared to be a strip of leather. A little breathless, she had to fight the urge to leave the office and visit the restaurant for some take-out coffee as she often did. Instead, she decided to make a fresh pot.
“Oh, I didn’t see the pot was empty,” Carol said as Grace carried it to the restroom to get water. “I can do that. You have more important things to take care of.”
“No problem, Carol.” Grace raised her voice over the already running water. “I needed an excuse to stretch my legs anyway.”
An excuse to get away from more important things—that wretched paperwork that was waiting for her on her office desk. She would love, for example, to give Caleb that grand tour of Green Meadows she’d promised him. Hmm...
Setting up the coffee took only a few minutes. Carol was now on the phone with one of their suppliers. As she thought about the possibility of that tour to get her away from the office, Grace couldn’t resist the temptation to walk back to the windows. She was staring at The Busy Corner as if she could conjure Caleb Blackthorne again, when an old minibus rattled up and parked in front of the restaurant. Out stepped the odd-looking driver, who appeared to be wearing a costume of sorts. Short and chubby with a Van Dyke beard, he sported a bowler hat and a frock coat that had seen better days.
As he walked around the vehicle to let passengers out of the back, she noted the cartoon-like ghost painted on the side of the bus along with Spooky Tours... Hosted by Vincent Pryce.
What in the world...?
And then it hit her—this was a ghost tour operation. And it had come here, no doubt, because of the rumors at Green Meadows!
The odd little man was guiding a dozen people inside The Busy Corner.
“The coffee is ready.”
Carol’s voice jerked Grace around. “What?”
“Your coffee.” The receptionist indicated the coffeemaker.
“Right. Thanks.” She glanced back through the window as the man followed his customers inside. What in the world was he telling them about the development? And with all those people in the restaurant—potential residents—within hearing distance. “I think I need something to go with the coffee. If anyone asks for me, I’ll be back in...well, a while.”
Grace left the office and raced across the street. She opened The Busy Corner door. All the passengers on the tour had taken seats around tables, and a busboy was distributing menus and water. Grace glanced past them to the far wall where Caleb sat alone enjoying a piece of apple pie. She wanted to wave at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Or anyone for that matter. He was too busy reading his newspaper.
One of the people from the minibus said, “What I heard happened on that farm is even better than the Milwaukee beer baron story. C’mon, Vincent, don’t make us wait any longer. Tell us about the farmhouse murder!”
Grace clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t interrupt. She wanted to hear what this guy had to say, as well. Her father had told her there had been a murder on the Green Meadows property, but he hadn’t had the details.
The tour leader—Vincent, apparently—stood in the center of the room, bowler hat still firmly in place as he puffed out his chest and cleared his throat. “Right after the First World War, that farm was owned by a mean old couple with a crazy grown son. Really weird folks, the Whitmans, who made their neighbors uncomfortable, made friends with no one. They were farmers who should have had responsibility to their animals, but they got up whenever they wanted and made the cows wait to be milked.”
“Was that bad?” asked another member of the group.
Vincent said, “Yes, it was bad. They should have been milked at sunrise. Those poor cows suffered. And then they didn’t milk the cows again until after dark. The neighbors were horrified when they saw the lanterns lighting up the old barn late at night. Horrified, too, when the crazy son who served in World War I marched around the property carrying a shotgun and looking for Germans.”
“Plenty of Germans in these parts,” a local woman said. “Did he ever shoot anyone?”
“He did. One of their cows who wandered away from the herd. Shot it in the head and killed it dead.”
Several gasps made Grace realize everyone in the restaurant other than Caleb was captivated by the story. Finally looking up and spotting her, he shot both eyebrows up high and shook his head.
“What happened then?” came another question.
“Son got taken away to an asylum, where he stayed for the rest of his life.”
“That’s it?” a man groused. “A cow was murdered?”
People grumbled as if disappointed.
“No, no, that was just the beginning,” Vincent went on, embellishing. “Then the rumors started about a cow with blazing red eyes appearing. Soon after, the couple was found dead. Old Whitman sprawled across the kitchen floor, his head smashed in...blood on a rolling pin in the sink.”
“What about the woman?”
“Found facedown outside as if she’d been running from something fearsome and had a heart attack. Rumor had it the murdered cow’s ghost was possessed, and no one wanted to go near the property because it haunted the fields.”
“Oh, come on!” Appalled, Grace moved toward the tour guide. “Where did you get that information? What proof do you have that anything you said is true?”
Vincent puffed himself up but still had to tilt his head to look her in the eye. “Are you a ghost hunter?” he demanded.
As if his calling himself a ghost hunter gave him unique qualifications, Grace thought. “No. Green Meadows is my community, and I don’t appreciate your tall tales meant to scare people or make them uncomfortable.”
“I’m not doing anything illegal. And just because you don’t believe in ghosts doesn’t mean the story isn’t true.”
“A ghost cow?” she asked.
“With blazing red eyes. And it still wanders the area, sometimes on deserted country roads...”
Grace had had enough. She started to open her mouth again.
“Oh, come on, lady,” one of the group interrupted. “Don’t spoil our fun!”
Fun? Could this man really just make up a bunch of lies and people would pay to hear them? Distraught, she looked around and noted irritated expressions on several faces. Obviously these tourists were getting what they wanted and didn’t appreciate her interference.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Paying no attention to her, the tour leader started explaining how the cow chasing old Mrs. Whitman was reenacted on the Green Meadows property whenever there was moonlight.
Disgusted, Grace turned to leave and nearly ran into Caleb, who had his bill and some cash in hand.
“Don’t let him get to you,” he said softly as they reached the cashier and he set down his money, then went on without waiting for change. “It’s ridiculous, but it isn’t meant to hurt anyone.”
“Plus it brings in business,” added the cashier, nodding to the group, most of whom seemed to be ordering sandwiches or full meals.
“Come on.” Caleb held the door open for Grace.
Once outside, she said, “But what if it hurts the new community? People can be superstitious. If they believe him, they might not want to go anywhere near Green Meadows.”
“Yes, levelheaded people around here are going to believe there’s a ghost cow with blazing red eyes roaming the property.” His tone was serious but laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.
Despite her irritation with the tour leader, Caleb made her laugh. “Okay, okay.”
“If I know people around here, they’ll be snorting over that guy’s story for days to come. Until someone else comes up with a more outrageous tale.”
“Hopefully Green Meadows is safe then.” The idea of going back to her paperwork made Grace desperate enough to ask Caleb, “Have you thought about taking that tour of the green community with me?”
“You were serious?”
“I was.”
“Then I would love it. Are you busy now?”
Thinking about the paperwork waiting for her in the office, she said, “Now would be a perfect time.”
* * *
SINCE CALEB LIVED so close to the development, it made sense for them to drive separately and meet at the community center. Arriving at Green Meadows before Grace, he took a good look at the wall his daughter had defaced a few days ago. Already painted over. Part of him regretted Angela’s work being destroyed, especially since it had such emotional significance to her. What she had done was wrong, but maybe it was his fault. In the past, he’d avoided discussing Lily with his daughter. He’d had no idea that she’d thought he had somehow taken her mother away from her, the antithesis of the truth. When he’d fallen in love with Lily, he’d been young and naive and had thought they would be together forever.
“How is Angela doing?”
Caleb started. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard Grace’s car pull up. He turned to face her. The breeze caught her dark hair, creating a lovely cloud around her face. “She’s coping, I guess. She’s still avoiding me as much as she can.”
Grace nodded in what seemed like understanding. “Let’s walk this way.”
She indicated the sidewalk that would take them past one of the condo buildings, plus several duplexes. Caleb was glad to note that all the buildings sat on large pieces of land and backed onto a forested area. So while people did have neighbors, they also had enough room for gardens and outdoor activities and a wonderful backyard view of something other than more buildings. The solar panels that heated and cooled the dwellings were cleverly inserted into the roofs.
He asked, “How big is the development?”
“Almost four acres. Half of that is common land, never to be built on. Phase 1 is only about an acre, similar to the size of a football field.”
“So there will be a Phase 2?”
“Down the road. Maybe. Assuming Phase 1 is successful. So far we’re about half-full and still working on completing a half-dozen town houses. Let’s hope that tour operator didn’t scare away people who might have been thinking of moving in.”
“I doubt that’s likely. He was just too outrageous for anyone with sense to buy into his story.”
“Hopefully you’re right. At any rate, if we went ahead with the second phase, we would probably add some single-family homes.”
“That would be good to bring in families with kids.”
“Exactly what we’re hoping to do. We want the community to be multigenerational, with the option for our more mature residents to age in place.”
As they walked through the network of winding streets, Grace talked about their objectives. “We want to protect occupant health by using safe building products, including what we can of mold-and fire-resistant materials. And we hope to reduce the impact to the environment by using energy and water resources more efficiently.” Grace sounded apologetic when she said, “But I’m preaching to the choir. You already know all that.”
“That may be true, but it’s nice to hear someone else talk about it.”
Caleb appreciated that Grace knew her stuff. Despite the fact that she claimed to be an amateur, she’d gotten so much right. He liked the walking paths carved through the forest so that residents could experience nature just outside their door. He particularly liked the chance to walk through the area with her.
“This is the rental building where Nellie lives,” she pointed out, taking a path that led behind it toward a stand of trees. “Let me know if you see any ghosts, okay?”
“A cow with glowing red eyes?”
They laughed together as they got on the walking path that cut through the trees behind the housing.
Caleb loved the near silence surrounding them. He could pick up welcome noises. A bird’s wings flapping. A small animal foraging for something to eat. A squirrel racing from one tree to the next. Grace seemed equally happy just being one with nature for the moment, not having to keep a conversation flowing. The expression on her face looked as serene as if she were meditating on the outdoor beauty. He liked that, plus he felt comfortable with her. As if he’d known her for months or years rather than a few days.
“Angela would love this trail,” Caleb said. “She would find dozens of places to hunker down and sketch.”
“I noticed how much she used nature in her art at your place the other day. If you wanted to bring her out here sometime, I have no objection.”
“I don’t think she wants to go anywhere with me at the moment.”
“She knows you love her. She’ll calm down.”
“I can hope.” Then Caleb reminded her, “I want to pay for the damage. Did you figure out how much I owe you?”
“Not yet. How about I send you an email when I tally it up.”
“Sounds fair. What I should do is find a way to make Angela pay for her own bad choices before she does something worse. I had a rough go of it myself when I was her age.” Surprisingly, Caleb found himself opening up to Grace, probably because she’d been so concerned for Angela and Kiki. “I was reckless. Got into all kinds of trouble. I didn’t expect to end up being a Dad at sixteen.”
“Oh...wow...you were a kid yourself.”
Rather than shocked, Grace sounded compassionate, which made Caleb appreciate her even more.
“I had to grow up fast. Thankfully, I had a terrific mother, who helped me make a U-turn with my life. I took custody of Angela, got myself through high school and into college. Took me a lot of years going to school while working in construction and other hard labor jobs. I had to make a decent living while getting my degrees.”
“But it was all worth it.”
He nodded. “I did it for Angela. Not that she sees it. She has no idea of how hard it was for me to give her the comfortable life she’s had. I wanted to be a good example, so that she would make better choices for herself than I did at her age. Lately it hasn’t seemed like I succeeded.”
“You can’t blame yourself. Every teenage kid goes through something. It’s part of growing up. What you did for her...that was everything. Give her some time, and she’ll realize that.”
Caleb hoped Grace was correct. Drawn to her caring nature, he didn’t miss the fact that she was a fine-looking woman. A little fancy for him, wearing what he thought was a designer dress and heels so high they were practically eye-to-eye. The look suited her, though, appearing...effortless.
Caleb wouldn’t mind getting to know Grace Huber better.
If only Angela wasn’t having an absentee-mother crisis.
Realistically, he couldn’t have met the appealing woman at a worse time.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fb3e02c3-f6f4-5718-8e0a-1fd4073cf1c4)
GRACE HUMMED TO herself as she got ready for her meeting with Heather Scofield about the landscaping for Green Meadows. She kept playing the time she’d spent with Caleb the afternoon before over and over in her head. It had been a simple walk, but she couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time with a man. She’d been so focused on work since Dad announced he was contemplating retiring, that she hadn’t even thought about dating in some time.
Well, now she was thinking about it!
There was a lot she appreciated about Caleb Blackthorne beyond his good looks. His devotion to his daughter touched her deeply. She liked the fact that he taught environmental studies. He was a man of principle. She’d meant to forgo billing him for the repaint job on the community center, but his reminder had convinced her she needed to let him make up for his daughter’s actions.
Most of all, she’d loved just being with Caleb on that walk. They had a like appreciation of nature. She was always trying to identify birds and often spent free time reading nature magazines, so she’d been aware of everything around her, and he hadn’t cut in with forced conversation. They both had been comfortable just being together, listening to the sounds of birds flying and small animals scurrying around. She couldn’t have had a better time.
She was smiling to herself just thinking about it when Heather appeared at her office door.
“You certainly look cheerful this morning.”
The smile turned to a grin. “I have a lot to be cheerful about.”
That’s when she noticed Heather’s expression was just a little distressed. And, in addition to her portfolio, Heather held a sheet of paper gripped tightly in one hand.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
Heather crossed to her desk. “Sorry.” And set the paper down in front of her.
It was a flier.
SPOOKY TOURS... HOSTED BY VINCENT PRYCE shouted at Grace from the top of the flier, and it took her a moment to read the rest. See the old Whitman farmstead, where ghosts were responsible for the deaths of an old man and his wife! Now they are haunting the grounds, too.
Choked up, she said, “If only there was something I could do to stop him!”
“I don’t know on what grounds as long as he stays off yours,” Heather said. “I mean, he can drive down the street and say whatever he wants about the area. I don’t know that anyone can stop him unless he’s defaming someone who is still alive and who can sue him.”
Grace’s stomach tightened at the thought of instigating a lawsuit. Not that it would go anywhere under the circumstances. “Well, maybe no one will want to go on that tour. At least not potential residents.”
“The best way to calm people down is to get to know them personally,” Heather said.
“I haven’t exactly had a lot of time for socializing this past year.”
“I know you were really busy. But things at Green Meadows are winding down now.”
Grace immediately thought about checking out Nellie’s Treasures as she’d vowed to do the other day. Then again, Nellie was only one person. And she was already a resident.
“Any suggestions of where I can meet a lot of people at once?”
“There’s a fund-raiser social being given by the Ladies Auxiliary of First Presbyterian Church the weekend after next. They’re raising money for a new air-conditioning system for the church offices. And this Wednesday is Pancake Day. You definitely should go to that to meet people.”
“Pancake Day?”
“The Sparrow Lake Creamery and Dairymen’s Association have a Pancake Day every year during the kids’ spring vacation so everyone can come. It gets townspeople invested in supporting the local dairy industry—the butter and cream and milk produced in this area.”
“So it’s a breakfast?”
“All-day breakfast at the Sparrow Lake Farmers’ Co-op.”
Grace scribbled a note to herself even as she wondered if she would fit in at this kind of social event. “At the co-op?”
“Right. The building has offices and meeting rooms. That’s where the Dairymen’s Association is located. I’m going around noon. If you like, we can go together, as long as you don’t mind that I’ll be bringing the twins. I can introduce you to people you haven’t yet met.”
“Great. And I would love to see Addison and Taylor again.”
Heather eyed Grace’s designer suit. “You might want to...um...dress down a little.”
“So I fit in. Got it. Now at least I have a plan to influence people more than some transient ghost hunter. I can hope, right?”
Heather’s expression remained cautious.
Uh-oh. That didn’t bode well, Grace thought. “Is there a problem I don’t know about?”
“Just a little one. There’s another reporter going around town, trying to dig up a story about the ghost sightings.”
Grace groaned. “And I was just thinking what a nice day I had yesterday on the ‘haunted’ property. I say we get down to work before I lose my mind over this nonsense.”
At her invitation, Heather took a chair on the opposite side of the desk. As always, she was dressed casually compared with Grace, today in pale green chinos and a matching spring sweater. Her light brown hair streaked with blond was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was makeup free other than a swipe of tinted lip gloss.
“So...yesterday...” Heather cleared her throat and with an interested expression lighting her pretty face asked, “What was going on?”
“Oh. I, um, gave Caleb Blackthorne a tour of the area.” Grace tried to keep her tone casual.
“Ah, I see.”
She simply blinked at the other woman’s knowing tone.
Heather went on. “Caleb Blackthorne is considered quite a catch to the unmarried women in these parts, you know. Good-looking, great job, beautiful home. Lucky you.”
“It wasn’t a date,” Grace was quick to assure her. “The other day, his daughter, Angela—or Summer Storm, as she calls her artist self—created some problems at Green Meadows.”
“So I heard.”
Sparrow Lake was a small town with an active rumor mill, Grace reminded herself. Probably everyone had heard. “I wanted to talk to Caleb about his daughter, to see if I could get some insight on why she painted that mural, and I learned he teaches environmental studies at the community college.”
“I know. I took a couple of his classes. Great teacher.”
Grace thought about telling Heather she’d been considering taking his classes, too, but something stopped her.
“At any rate,” Grace went on, “Caleb asked me about why we went green with the new community, and I offered to give him a tour of the place.”
“A tour that put a big smile on your face.”
“I enjoyed myself,” Grace admitted, then before Heather could question her more indicated the table along the wall. “That should give us enough room to spread out your blueprints, don’t you think?”
“That it does.”
Part of Grace wanted to continue discussing Caleb with someone who knew him—she wanted to learn more about him if she could—but she didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic about a man who didn’t necessarily feel the same way about her.
* * *
ANGELA WASN’T SPEAKING to him again, and Caleb was ready to pull out his hair.
He still couldn’t believe he’d come home the day before to find a rickety structure that passed for a sweat lodge in his yard. Not that he objected to the idea of his daughter building one, but she had been grounded for the entire spring vacation. Apparently she’d chosen to interpret what that meant for herself. He’d given her a stern lecture about following rules and taking responsibility. He’d been sorely tempted to order her to tear down the flimsy shelter before it fell down, especially when he’d learned she’d used their winter blankets to build it. But his daughter’s tearful, accusatory expression had torn at his heart. He’d merely told Angela she couldn’t use her sweat lodge until her punishment was over at the end of the week.
She’d refused to have dinner with him.
Or breakfast.
What was he going to do with her? They’d never been at odds like this until the past few weeks. He needed someone to talk to about his daughter—someone who could give him some guidance. A good reason to visit his mother. Angela wasn’t speaking to him anyway, so he was simply spinning his wheels walking through the house.
Stopping at her closed bedroom door, he raised his voice. “I’m going out for a while.”
No answer.
No big surprise.
“I expect you to stay inside the house.” He waited for a moment, then said, “I need to know that you heard me.”
“I heard you.”
Still sullen. What was he going to do with her? Hopefully Mom would give him some good ideas of how to handle his daughter. How to get her to open up and not simply in anger. He thought about calling Mom first, then just decided to surprise her.
Maddie Blackthorne was a member of the Sparrow Lake Chippewa Band on what was the smallest reservation in Wisconsin. The land was a little more than seven hundred acres, supported by three tiny family farms surrounding a single village. The band that had broken off from its Lake Superior cousins had fewer than a thousand members, only half of whom actually lived on the rez itself.
It was beautiful land, with a couple of hundred acres of meadows and unharvested old forest that he’d explored throughout his youth. His love of nature had inspired him to become an environmentalist. And a professor of environmental studies.
The Blackthorne family house was situated on a quarter acre halfway between the village proper and the untouched land. It was a simple two-bedroom with a living room and eat-in kitchen, but the garden surrounding the house would be spectacular in full bloom, the flowers intermixed with rows of vegetables. Caleb had helped his mother start the garden when he was a kid, before he’d begun finding ways to get himself into trouble.
He’d barely parked the truck before his mother came out of the house to greet him. She smoothed back the silver wings of her long blue-black hair, caught in the back with a clip. She was wearing her usual jeans with a long-sleeved pullover sweater. Mom’s clothing was always practical. A social worker, she spent her life taking care of other people rather than fussing over herself. He appreciated her dedication but wished she would fuss just a little. She deserved it.
“Hey, Mom.” Stepping up to the porch, he threw his arms around her.
She gave him a big hug. “This is certainly a surprise.”
“I needed to talk to someone with more wisdom than I have.”
“Angela?”
He nodded.
“C’mon in. I have a fresh pot of coffee to go with the acorn bread I made this morning.”
Caleb’s mouth was already watering as he followed her inside. “Any of that rhubarb ginger jam left?”
“Of course. You know I always make enough to last until the next rhubarb crop comes in.”
The acorn bread must have come out of the oven a short while ago, because the wonderful smell still filled the air. The kitchen was old-fashioned, a combination of wooden cabinets and shelves with speckled laminate countertops and ancient white appliances. Caleb loved Mom’s kitchen, because it felt like home. She’d said it felt like home, too, when he’d offered to buy her a new stainless steel stove and refrigerator, saying that would be a waste while the old ones still worked. While his mother sliced the bread, Caleb poured them mugs of coffee and fetched half-and-half, butter and the jam from the fridge. When everything was on the table, they sat opposite each other in comfortable silence for several minutes until they’d spread thick slices of bread with butter and jam, and Caleb had taken a big bite.
“Delicious,” he murmured as he chewed. “Your cooking always makes me feel better.”
“What did Angela do this time?”
Caleb took another bite and washed it down with coffee before answering. “You know I grounded her, which by that I meant study. Instead, she went outside and built a sweat lodge that looks like it would fall over if someone bumped into it.”
“Well, I would say that’s educational.”
“She wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”
“Perhaps she thought ‘house’ included the property, too.”
“Mo-o-om.”
“She’s so much like you were before you became a father.” His mother grinned at him. “It’s kind of just retribution.”
Caleb scowled. “That isn’t helpful.”
“But just a little satisfying to me, honey.”
Finishing the slice of acorn bread, Caleb muttered, “What am I going to do with her? She keeps defying me and getting into trouble. I’m afraid that if I can’t find a way to reason with her, she’s going to go too far.” He sighed. “What is it with teenagers?” Including his younger self. “Why do they all seem to go crazy?”
Maddie laughed. “It’s called hormones. A body that’s mostly adult combined with a mind that’s mostly child.” She added, “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach.” Her smile faded into a more serious expression.
“Wrong approach?” Was she going to place the blame in his corner? He couldn’t help feeling defensive. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so demanding with Angela that it surely backfires on you. You need to listen to your daughter, to understand what it is she wants. What is important to her.”
“You mean this new kick about her becoming an artist?”
“It’s not new, Caleb. She started drawing the moment she could use a crayon. You’ve been displaying her artwork for years.”
“That’s what you do when your kid creates something for you.”
“Even if you don’t like it?”
“I never said that. I love it. She has incredible potential. But thinking you can make a living as an artist isn’t practical.”
“So you dash her dreams.”
“What should I do? Encourage her to live in poverty? Being an artist doesn’t bring in a regular income. I keep trying to tell her she needs to have a real job and that she can do her art on the side.”
“Which makes her dream sound unimportant. An afterthought.”
“If I could make it work for her, I would.”
“Then try to help her find a way. There are jobs with regular incomes for trained artists. Help her see that she can channel her creativity to something that will support her like graphic arts—or teaching art—while she creates a portfolio that she can take to art shows or galleries. When you tell her to do art on the side, it sounds...dismissive. Be positive and supportive instead of demanding she do things your way all the time.”
Mom had a point. He could be gruff, he supposed. “All right. I’ll think about how I can do that.”
“Good.” Mom held out a plate to him. “More bread?”
“Did you think I might say no?” He took another piece.
As he spread the butter and jam, he realized his mother was staring at him intently. “Something on your mind, Mom?”
“So what’s going on with you lately? Terese Kistler said she saw you with the Huber woman walking through Green Meadows yesterday. Were you making peace over Angela?”
The reminder of their private walk through the development warmed Caleb inside. “As a matter of fact, Grace offered to give me a tour of Green Meadows, so I could see how it’s progressing. I was very impressed.”
“With the development or with Grace?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Both, actually.” Though he’d already realized his attraction to the woman was hopeless until he straightened things out with his daughter.
“Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t.” He quickly tried to backtrack before his mother made a big deal of it. “We simply have a lot in common. Environment-wise, that is.”
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a challenging expression. “So you don’t actually like Grace? As a woman, I mean.”
“Yes, I like her.”
“Then you’ll ask her out.”
He shook his head. “The timing is all wrong.”
“Because she’s seeing someone else?”
“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. It’s not her, it’s me.” He sighed and set his acorn bread back on the plate. “Rather, it’s Angela.”
“So Angela doesn’t like her.”
“Angela doesn’t really know her.” But that didn’t prevent Caleb from assuming the worst. He couldn’t count on anything when it came to his daughter these days.
“Then what’s the problem?” his mother asked.
“Lily is the problem. I told you about the mural. When I tried to talk to Angela about defacing private property, it turned into something else. She admitted she thought I took her mother from her. I explained what happened, but at the moment she’s obsessed with feeling abandoned. I have no idea where this is coming from. Teenage imagination, I guess. I just don’t see how I can bring another woman into the mix right now.”
“Angela might not like it at first, but she’ll come around. She has before. You dated several women while you were in school.”
“None were serious.”
“So this Grace Huber...” His mother cleared her throat. “You could be serious about her?”
Caleb started. Not a question he’d asked himself. Not one he wanted to explore too deeply right now. “Mom, you’re jumping the gun. I like her, but I haven’t even asked her out on a date.”
“Then maybe it’s time you did something about that.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_c1e3ec91-2470-54c3-82e4-20c2420effd4)
“I WANT A big stack of pancakes with lots of whipped cream,” Taylor announced as they left Heather’s van parked just down the street from the co-op. “With cherries on top.”
“I’m not sure they have whipped cream, sweetie, and I know they won’t have cherries,” Heather told the child. Then she explained to Grace. “Cherries on top are her new thing. Rick bought a big jar of maraschino cherries to put on everything...mashed potatoes, broccoli, cottage cheese.” She grinned, probably thinking of her hunky new husband. “He’s spoiling both twins.”
“We’re not spoiled.” Addison slipped her hand into Grace’s and smiled up at her like a little angel. The eight-year-old looked incredibly cute with a missing tooth. Grace smiled back and squeezed. “I just want mine completely plain,” the girl said. “Not even syrup.”
Taylor made a face. “Yuck.”
“Come on,” chided Heather. “People have different tastes. Just because you like whipped cream doesn’t mean Addison has to like it.”
“O-o-okay.” Taylor flounced along, then tossed her head. “But pancakes are better with whipped cream.”
“No, they’re not,” singsonged Addison.
Heather frowned. “Shh!”
They stepped up on the sidewalk and walked toward the co-op about a block away. There were so many cars parked in downtown Sparrow Lake that they’d had to hunt for a space, because of the festival. Heather spoke to several people they met on the way, introducing Grace, who appreciated the friendly gesture. Not that she would be able to remember all the new names.
A whizzing sound made all of them glance behind them. A boy on a skateboard approached swiftly, drawn by a very large, spotted Great Dane on a leash. As the dog and skateboard whizzed past in a flurry of huge paws and wheels, Heather drew Taylor closer, keeping her out of the way.
The little girl stared openmouthed. “Wow!”
“We could do that with Kirby!” cried Addison.
“No, we’re not getting a skateboard so you can hitch it to the dog,” Heather told them firmly. “It’s too dangerous.” She turned to Grace. “And that kid is a danger, too. He could have knocked us off the sidewalk!”
Grace merely nodded, smiling, but the twins continued to jabber about the big dog until they reached the co-op building, an old storefront with an entrance refinished with brick. A line of people stood outside, waiting to go in.
“Wow, Pancake Day must be popular,” murmured Grace. She’d dressed down for the occasion, as Heather had suggested, forgoing her usual business attire for loose black trousers, a short-sleeved blue cashmere sweater and a leather moto jacket.
Heather nodded. “Free food. Don’t worry, the line will move fast. There are at least two pancake stations set up.”
“Ooh,” said Addison. “I smell sausage.”
“And bacon,” added Taylor.
“Yes,” agreed Heather. “You can have both if you want. Consider this ‘dunch’ or ‘linner,’ okay? We won’t need anything else but a small snack before you go to bed tonight.”
The line did move quickly and they were soon inside, heading down a hallway toward the main room. There, long tables had been set up for people to sit and eat, and other tables formed a barrier near the walls where grills were being manned to cook mounds of pancakes and breakfast meats. As they approached the nearest pancake station, Grace glanced back at the townspeople already eating, laughing and chatting. All the cooks were men, people she’d seen around town and who Heather had said were employed by the co-op or the creamery. Two tables were set up with butter and cream...but no whipped cream. Taylor stood on her tiptoes and looked around. Addison laughed and did a little whirl.
Grace grinned. “They sure have a lot of energy.”
“You’d think some of it would wear off as they get older, but the girls just seem to find more,” Heather said with a laugh.
“There’s ice cream over there,” Taylor told her mother. “Vanilla soft-serve.”
“Well, maybe we can get you some of that,” said Heather.
The twins stopped talking as they both got plates of pancakes. Addison ordered a stack of two but Taylor wanted three.
“Honey, I think two will be enough for you. Those pancakes are pretty big.”
“I want three!”
“You’d better eat them.” Heather lowered her voice in an aside to Grace. “Or not. I don’t want her to get sick.”
Grace just laughed and ordered a stack of three for herself. She also got three strips of bacon and three sausage links.
Then they turned toward the tables in the center of the room, most of them already full. Apparently the whole town turned out for Pancake Day, so Grace looked for the one face she would be happiest to see.
Disappointed.
Apparently the whole town had turned out except for Caleb Blackthorne.
As they sat down, Heather began introducing her to the people around them, and if they owned or operated a business, she included that information, as well. Grace tried to mentally keep track of everything Heather told her, but she feared she’d already forgotten half of what she’d been told. Then Heather realized they’d forgotten drinks and got up to fetch glasses of milk for the girls and two cups of coffee for themselves.
Taylor dug into her food hungrily. She’d gotten a cup of soft-serve ice cream, which she dumped on top of her pancakes. Addison cut her plain pancakes into dainty pieces and chewed equally daintily. Grace wondered how two sisters born at the same time could be so different.
“Slow down,” Heather told Taylor, “or you might end up with a tummy ache.”
Grace spread fresh creamery butter on her pancakes and laced them with syrup. “Yum. I can see why so many people turn out for Pancake Day.”
Heather bit into a piece of crisp bacon. “It’s not just the food, it’s the sense of community, of everyone taking a short break from work to celebrate spring with friends and family and catch up with people they don’t often get to talk to.”
Looking around, Grace saw so many smiles, heard so much laughter, that she couldn’t help but grin. Never having experienced anything like this in Milwaukee, where neighbors didn’t necessarily even know each other—Grace was acquainted with only one other woman in her condo building—she responded to the positive energy in the room. There were a lot of things she liked about Sparrow Lake, and the feeling of community just went to the top of her list. She imagined that even if you lived alone, you would never have to be lonely in a friendly town like this.
Heather had been right about her coming to the event. Several people wanted to know how the green community was faring, and others asked what her plans for the future might be. Lots of interested questions from potential residents or simply people who might help spread the word to friends in nearby towns. People came and went, but the twins went back for second helpings, so, content to stay awhile longer, Grace fetched another cup of coffee.
Just as she brought it back to the table, she looked up to see a familiar face. Three familiar faces, in fact. Caleb had arrived with Angela and Kiki. They had just filled their plates with food and were looking around for a place to sit. As if he knew she was staring at him, Caleb turned in her direction. Their gazes met and her stomach did a little flip when his lips turned up in a big smile aimed her way. She waved. Then Angela saw her, and the girl’s lips tightened.
“C’mon,” Grace heard Caleb say to his daughter and her friend. “There’s room over there.”
Over there was across from her and Heather and the twins. Grace sent him a welcoming smile. “Hi, Caleb.”
“Grace, Heather...good to see you, both,” he said as he set down his food.
“You, too, Caleb,” Heather said.
Grace’s pulse thrummed. “I was hoping we might run into each other.”
Caleb took the seat directly across from Grace, Angela and Kiki reluctantly joining him. Caleb introduced the women to the girls. Angela didn’t say anything, simply slapped down her plate and threw herself into her chair. Kiki avoided looking at anyone.
Oh, great. Talk about awkward. Grace figured the teenagers recognized her from the mural incident.
As if he didn’t notice his daughter’s attitude, Caleb gave her cup of coffee and empty plate a quick look. “I take it you already ate.”
“More like overate,” Grace said. “But it was delicious, worth every calorie.”
He eyed her more thoroughly. “Not that you need to worry about it.”
Grace started to laugh until she noted Kiki’s sour expression. Definitely aimed her way.
A loud bam startled them all, and Grace turned to see the twins near a food table, an entire bowl of butter turned upside down at their feet.
“Oh, no,” Heather groaned, pushing herself away from the table. “I knew something had to happen. Things were too peaceful.”
Grace laughed. “It’s probably an accident. They didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
But then she noticed Addison stooping to pick up a glob of butter with one finger and promptly flinging it at her sister. Heather bore down upon the pair and Grace turned back to her food, not wanting to watch the twins get reprimanded. Even an angelic-looking child could be naughty, she guessed.
Caleb grinned and gave his daughter a penetrating look. “They can get into trouble no matter the age.”
At which point Angela turned her back on him and went forehead to forehead with Kiki, whispering. Caleb merely rolled his eyes and continued smiling at Grace, who felt a sudden attack of butterflies whirl through her stomach.
She said, “I understand Pancake Day is a tradition.”
“I’ve been here every year since I moved into town.”
“I can understand why. It’s a lot of fun, and you get to see people you probably don’t see often.” Like him. She was definitely glad she’d run into Caleb. She hadn’t met a man who interested her this much in ages. “Are there other community events like this?”
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Lynn Patrick
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Preserving nature. Growing love. Can they do both?Grace Huber has no interest in taking over the reins of her father’s successful development company. Instead, she’s busy building a dream of her own: A “green” housing community in Wisconsin’s Sparrow Lake. Educator and conservationist Caleb Blackthorne is not only on the same page, the handsome single father tempts goal-oriented Grace to take time out to smell the flowers. But Caleb’s rebellious teenage daughter keeps throwing obstacles in their path. And when Caleb’s long-gone ex-wife shows up, along with rumors of ghostly sightings that threaten the future of Green Meadows, Grace fears she may lose all the things that matter most to her.