Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (26 page)

“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.

* * *

G
RACE
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

“A
REN
'
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.

* * *

M
ONDAY
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.”