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It had been a long time since he’d noticed the color of a woman’s eyes or hair. Doing so now surprised him.

In the first couple of years after Rhonda’s death, he’d been numb to everything. After that, he’d put up an invisible shield whenever he was around women, not willing to risk an involvement that might later cause him heartache.

So when had he lowered that protective shield?

“Coach, don’t forget you’re gonna try to win my mom’s chocolate cake in the cakewalk tonight.”

“What?” He looked at Lyssa. “Oh. Sure. You bet.”

* * *

A man hadn’t been tongue-tied in Terri’s presence in ages. If Mel Jenkins was always this flustered around women, it would explain why he was a bachelor at his age.

She subdued a smile and put another balloon between her lips before casting a surreptitious glance in Mel’s direction. He was a man of good looks, medium height, and muscular build. The creases between his eyebrows and the slight squint of his blue eyes made her wonder if the prescription for his eyeglasses needed adjustment. He had pale blond hair and fair skin that probably required 45 SPF sun block lotion. As a redhead who burned easily, she sympathized.

Terri didn’t know much about the coach other than that he managed one of the two banks in town, had moved to Hart’s Crossing from somewhere in Montana, and was enthusiastic about Little League baseball. Most gossip eventually spilled into Terri’s salon, but nothing of significance had reached her ears about Mel Jenkins. Folks said he was friendly but reserved. Now she suspected extremely shy would be a better description.

Bill Palmer had recommended Mel for the coaching position when it became vacant. League rules called for a thorough background check of coaches and other volunteers, and Terri wouldn’t have wanted it otherwise. Not the way things were these days. Still, it was Bill’s endorsement that made her feel truly comfortable with Mel’s involvement with Lyssa and the other kids on the team.

“How’s it going here?”

Terri turned toward John Gunn, the pastor of Hart’s Crossing Community Church. “Fine. We’ve got enough balloons ready to start tacking them to the board.”

“Need more help?”

“I don’t think so.” She glanced at Mel. “Do we?”

He shook his head. “I think we can manage.”

“We’re doin’ okay,” Lyssa added before putting another balloon to her lips and breathing into it.

“I guess not,” Terri said, looking at the pastor again.

“Good. Then I’ll see who does need my help.” With a wave, John moved toward the next booth.

Terri picked up a thumbtack before reaching into the large box of inflated balloons.

“Do you go to church here, Mrs. Sampson?” Mel asked after a brief period of silence.

“Please. Call me Terri.” She poked a tack through the lip of a pink balloon and into the corkboard behind it. “Yes, this is my church. It has been since before Lyssa was born.” She attached another balloon to the board. “What about you?”

“I attend services at the Methodist church over on Idaho Street. It’s a small congregation, but I like it.”

“I have a number of good friends who go there. Has Reverend Ball decided to retire yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“He’s talked about it for years.”

“I’ve heard him say it, too, but I don’t think he means it. Not yet.”

Terri glanced over her shoulder. Although she was naturally attracted to tall, lean, dark-haired cowboy types, she conceded that Mel had a certain appeal, for a banker. Oh, and that dreadful haircut. Davis Wiggin, the local barber, must have cut it.

Now, if she could get her hands in Mel’s pale hair, she would—

“Hey, Mom,” Lyssa interrupted Terri’s thoughts. “Mrs. Bedford’s calling for you.”

Terri felt heat rush to her cheeks, knowing she’d been caught staring, just as Mel had been caught earlier.

“I guess I’d better see what Patti wants,” she said before hurrying away.

Patti Bedford, four months pregnant with her first child, stood near a table that held an array of beautiful cakes and pies, each covered with plastic wrap. She frowned down at a small, portable CD player.

“What’s wrong, Patti?”

“Oh, this miserable thing won’t work. I told Al it was broken, but he insisted he’d fixed it.” She looked at Terri. “I’d better run over to Radio Shack and buy a new one, or we may not have music for the cakewalk. Will you finish getting the numbers on the floor with the masking tape?”

“Sure. I’ll get it done. And make certain you get a receipt so the league can reimburse you for the cost of the CD player.”

“I don’t know why Al thinks he can repair everything electrical.” Patti reached for her coat and purse. “Sometimes he even puts the batteries into a flashlight backwards.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

Terri nodded as if in agreement, but she thought Patti was one of the fortunate ones. Al Bedford, young as he was, was a peach of a guy. He and Patti had been married almost two years, and he still hung on her every word, as if each one was made of pure gold. If Vic had treated Terri half as good…

Well, it was pointless for her thoughts to go there. Besides, it looked too much like envy for Terri’s comfort. First Angie, now Patti.

“Shame on me,” she muttered. “I’ve been blessed too much to envy others. Shame on me.”

* * *

The coach kept blowing up and tying off balloons, one right after another, but Lyssa was pretty sure he’d watched her mom most of the time since she went over to the cakewalk area.

“Mom’s cake’s even better than it looks.”

The coach turned his head. For a second, she thought he didn’t understand what she’d said, but then he grinned. “Is that right? There looks like a lot of choices over there.”

“Nope. Hers beats them all.” Man, there she was, doing it again. Talking about her mom’s cake when she should impress the coach with baseball stuff. She reached for another balloon while mentally scrambling for something better to say. Finally, it came to her. “Coach Jenkins, can you name the four pitchers who had twenty or more strikeouts in a single game?”

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “No, I don’t think I can.”

Lyssa grinned. “Tom Cheney of the Washington Senators had twenty-one back in 1962. Roger Clemens of the Boston Red Sox had twenty in two different games, one in 1986 and one in 1996. Kerry Wood of the Chicago Cubs had twenty in—”
Oh, oh. What year was it?
“Oh, yeah. That was in 1998. And the last one was Steve Carlton of the St. Louis Cardinals. He had twenty in 1969.”

“Mighty impressive, Miss Sampson.”

She beamed. If those stats impressed him, just wait until she—

“Hey, Jenkins. I could use your help.”

Lyssa and the coach turned in unison to see Angie Hunt and Bill Palmer standing beyond the booth’s front counter.

Not now! I was so close.

Bill motioned toward the stairs. “I’ve got cases of soda pop to bring down. Can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing.” The coach stood. “See you later, Lyssa.”

The two men strode away, leaving Lyssa with baseball statistics racing through her head.

“Don’t look so disappointed, squirt,” Angie said. “I’m staying.”

“Sorry.”

Angie settled onto the chair the coach had vacated moments before. “Maybe you can help me decide on the colors I want to use at the wedding.”

Like she cared about that when she could have been talking baseball with the coach.

* * *

Two hours later, the basement of the church was jam-packed with people. Voices buzzed and laughter rang as carnival-goers moved from booth to booth, happy to win silly prizes.

Terri greeted each person and took tickets for the cakewalk. “Thanks so much for coming tonight. Hope you win a cake. The Cavaliers appreciate your support. Do enjoy yourself.”

Till Hart, granddaughter of the town’s founding father, approached Terri, a smile wreathing her face. The woman never missed a community event if she could help it.

“Good evening, Miss Hart. Quite the crowd tonight.”

“Always good to see folks turn out to support our youth.” She offered Terri a ticket. “I hear you baked your famous black forest cake.”

“I don’t know how famous it is, but yes, I did.”

“Well, that’s the one I want to win. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Lyssa told me that’s what you brought.”

Terri looked over at the long table that held the desserts. At the end of it, Lyssa stood beside the brand-new CD player and a glass bowl full of numbers. “We’re about to start a new walk, Miss Hart. You’re the last one in for this round. Go stand on that empty number there.” She pointed at the floor. “And good luck.”

Till moved with surprising swiftness for someone her age. Sometimes Terri found it hard to believe the woman was really seventy-six.

I should be so spry.
Which reminded her she needed to be more faithful about riding the stationary bike she had in a corner of her bedroom.

Till Hart came to a standstill on the lone remaining number. She turned, looked at Terri, and winked.

Terri might have returned the wink, except her gaze was drawn to the man on the number in front of Till. It was Mel Jenkins. Terri didn’t remember taking his ticket. How had he—

Music blared forth from the player, and Lyssa shouted, “Everybody walk. Follow the numbers. Everybody walk until the music stops.”

“Step lively, Mr. Jenkins,” Till said loudly as she passed by Terri. “I’m about to step on your heels. Men should never dawdle.”

He responded, but Terri missed his words. However, she saw the teasing look in his eyes as he glanced back at the elderly woman following close behind him.

The music stopped abruptly. Participants shuffled forward or back to make certain each was standing on a number. Lyssa reached into the glass bowl and pulled out a slip of paper.

“Number fourteen. Who’s on number fourteen?”

There was a moment of silence before Mel answered, “I am.”

Lyssa dropped the paper back into the bowl. “All right, Coach! You get your pick.” She pointed toward the black forest cake Terri had baked that morning. “That’s the one you want.”

Terri didn’t miss the quick look he stole in her direction. “You promise it’s the best one, Lyssa?”

“I promise. My mom made it.”

* * *

The number on the slip of paper
could
have been fourteen. Of course, Lyssa would never know if it was or wasn’t because she hadn’t looked before dropping it back in the bowl. She’d sorta faked reading it.

Was it really lying if she didn’t know for sure?

It wasn’t like anybody spent a whole lot on those tickets anyway. Everybody came to the carnival to help raise money for the Little League, so win or not, they would’ve spent the same amount of money. Right?

Chapter 3

MEL HAD BEEN HOME from church a couple of hours when the telephone rang. Bill Palmer was on the other end of the line, calling in his official capacity as owner and editor of the
Mountain View Press
, the local weekly newspaper.

“Mind answering a few questions for the paper on a Sunday?” Bill asked after they’d exchanged a few pleasantries.

“No. Go ahead.”

“Did the Cavaliers meet their financial objective last night? Would you call this year’s carnival a success?”

Shifting the telephone receiver from his right ear to his left, Mel looked to the black forest cake in the center of his kitchen table. Eighteen hours after he’d brought it home, more than a third of it was missing. “Yes, on both counts.”

“Coach Jenkins, it’s not long now until the season opener. How do you think this year’s team will fare?”

“We’ve got a strong bunch of experienced players. Most of them already have two years in the majors, and the rest have come up through the minors, many of them starting with Tee Ball. I think we’ll see a winning season from this team.”

Bill cleared his throat. “This is your first year as head coach of the Cavaliers. How are you feeling about the experience thus far?”

“It’s been terrific. I like working with the kids, and the parents have really pitched in to help whenever and wherever they’re needed. I’ve got no complaints. I hope they all feel the same way about me.”

“Great.” Bill chuckled. “Official interview over. Now tell me the truth. How’s it going?”

“I
am
telling the truth.”

Over the past year, he’d come to think of Bill as a trusted friend. They’d met at the local Chamber of Commerce meetings when Mel first came to town, but it wasn’t until last year that he’d been willing to be more than business acquaintances. He was thankful Bill wasn’t the sort to be easily put off. The two men had plenty in common—never married, fortyish, interested in sports and current events, avid readers, Christians.

“The kids are great,” Mel continued, “and so are the parents. We never lack for enough volunteers, no matter what needs done. I’m glad you talked me into coaching.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’d hate to be responsible if you were miserable.”

Mel reached for the cake in the center of the table and drew it toward him, recalling the pretty redhead who’d baked it. As quickly as the image popped into his head, he tried to shake it off by changing the subject. “Hey, I hear you’ve got a bit of news of your own. Something about you and Angie Hunter and a wedding.”

“Man, that didn’t take long to get around town. Who told you?”

“Betty Frazier was in the bank on Friday afternoon, checking about a loan for one of her real estate clients. I overheard her talking to a teller about the proposal.”

Bill laughed again. “I don’t know why I bother to publish a newspaper. Everybody knows everything before I can get the thing to press.”

“True enough, but I promise to keep subscribing anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll soon have a wife to support, so I’ve gotta sell lots of subscriptions.”

A familiar heaviness weighed on Mel’s heart as memories of Rhonda and what might have been pricked his thoughts. “You know I wish you and Angie the very best.”

“Thanks.”

“How about we meet for lunch or dinner later this week? That way I can get the straight facts instead of the gossip.”