Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (65 page)

“So help Grandpa see it that way.” He sighed. “I know I hurt him by going my own direction, but it was the right thing to do. That's why I think it's so important that you go in yours.”

Karla decided to switch the topic. “There's still the problem of Karl's. Grandpa thinks he can go back to running the shop, but I don't think he can. It's a lot of work, even for me. How do we get him to come around on this and hire someone else?”

Dad folded his hands. “I think Dad knows—on some level, at least—that it's beyond him. He's just not ready to admit it. Hiring anyone to come in is a big leap for him, and hiring someone whose last name isn't Kennedy is an enormous leap. I think it's just that having you behind the counter has brought up old wishes, old dreams he had for the place. And the fact that he's just plain...old.” One corner of Dad's mouth turned up in a wistful smile. “That's never easy for any of us to swallow.”

Karla gathered the papers and put them back in a folder she'd proudly marked “Perk.” She needed to spend some serious time asking God's guidance on how to talk to the old man. “I love Grandpa. How do I tell him this without hurting him?”

Dad put his hand atop hers. “I'm not sure you can. But you can't let that stop you from moving forward with your own life. I went my own way, and while I won't say it was smooth sailing, I never regretted it. You've stepped in to help when you were needed, and now it's time to seize this great opportunity God's laid in front of you. You have to trust it will all work out.” He squeezed her hand. “Eventually, if not at first.” He straightened up, blew out a breath and changed the subject. “That Coffee Catch idea seems to be really catching on for Dylan. Who's up next?”

Karla laughed. “Oh, you'll love this one.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“The Gordon Falls Community Church Knitting Circle.”

Dad's jaw dropped. “What?”

“You know Violet. She's decided it shouldn't be just for tourists, that all the locals should help support Dylan's new business. So evidently all the women pooled their money and they're going fishing instead of knitting for their next meeting. It's hysterical, when you think of it.”

“Aren't you part of that group?”

“Oh, they invited me. And I thought about it, but I think it's best to keep business and pleasure from mixing on this one.” She slid her Perk file into her backpack alongside her textbooks. “I need to be at Karl's in order to make their drinks. Besides, it'd be a tight fit with all those women, Dylan and me.”

“I don't know. You landed a pretty big fish last time you went out with him on that boat.” Dad rubbed his stomach. “I'm hungry.”

She waved her father away. “Very funny. No, I think I'll take a pass and just have their coffee waiting.”

“Suit yourself. But it sounds like you might be missing out on some fun.”

Chapter Ten

K
nock. Knock. Knock-knock-knock.
“Karla?”

Karla put down her hairbrush. Karl's wasn't due to open for another two hours; there was no reason for someone to be banging on her door.

“Karla, you're up, aren't you? I saw the light on. Are you decent?” A woman's voice whispered loudly on the other side of her door.

Yawning, Karla peered through the peephole to see Violet Sharpton in a windbreaker and some odd bucket hat that looked like it belonged on a...fisherman. That's right; it was Wednesday—the day of the Knitting Circle's Coffee Catch. She pulled open the door.

“You're coming with us,” Violet declared, swooping into the room.

“Um...thanks, but I really have to get the shop open.”

Violet went to Karla's closet door and pulled it open. “You'll want a jacket or something—it's still a bit chilly out there with the sun barely up.”

The sun barely up, yes. All the more reason to... “Violet, why are you here?”

“Marge's arthritis is acting up again so now we have an empty space all paid for. You're a member of our group now—you should come. Melba can't bring Maria—she's too small for this sort of thing. Charlotte's already coming, so that leaves you.”

Violet began filing through the hangers in Karla's closet, evidently looking for suitable outerwear. She turned, gave Karla's current clothing—perfectly presentable jeans and a T-shirt—a once-over, then plucked a Chicago Culinary School zip-front sweatshirt from the back of Karla's sofa and held it out. “Change into some sneakers and you'll be all set. Tina wants to see if she can catch one bigger than your champion fish, and you know how Tina gets.”

She did not know how Tina got. She did not have time to go fishing this morning. “The shop...”

“I talked Karl and Emily into handling the morning crowd. And you can just make our spiffy coffees when we get in. No one's in any rush.” Violet checked her watch. “Except us. Come on, we shove off in fifteen minutes. Captain McDonald said to be right on time.”

Karla parked a hand on one hip. “Grandpa is not supposed to be working the shop. You know that.”

“Of course, that's what the doctors say.” She began rooting through a selection of headbands Karla kept in a bowl on a hallway table. “But he's going stir-crazy back at his house. Besides, I found him a stool to set behind the counter. He said ‘yes' in a heartbeat, and Emily was happy to drive him in. Your father will meet Karl at the shop in an hour or two just in case he gets tired.” She selected a red headband—the one Karla was intending to wear this morning, oddly enough—and held it out.

Karla narrowed her eyes as she took the headband from Violet. “So Dad's okay with this?”

“Well, I think he'd rather have slept in for another hour, but...”

Karla affixed the headband in the mirror, then stopped herself as soon as she realized she was obediently reaching for her sneakers. How did Violet Sharpton do that to people? “This is...”

“The best thing for everyone. Karl needs this. You need a break. Dylan needs the business. Really, what kind of community are we if we don't support our own?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, don't look at me like that! Karl's just going to work the register, that's all. I told him it's practice for his grand return...whenever that ends up being.” Violet started for the door, then turned back. “Comb the back of your hair, child. It's wild all over the place.”

Karla felt her mouth sag open. “I was just doing that.” She was glad she was already showered and had her makeup on for the day—Violet looked as if she would have yanked her out in her pajamas in another second. She shook her head in disbelief, but not before grabbing at the comb sitting next to the bowl of headbands and tucking it into her jeans pocket while smoothing the back of her hair with her other hand.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Violet peered at her.

“Of course I have.” Karla tried not to grind the answer out through said teeth.

“Good—I would have waited for that, but we can get going.”

“Why do you or the fish care about my grooming habits anyway?”

Violet blinked like a caffeinated owl. “Well, not
the fish
.”

The knitting circle didn't have a dress code that she had ever known... Wait a minute. “Violet...” Karla said slowly, the arc of the woman's plan coming into view. “Oh, no. Stop that right now.”

A sugar-sweet smile spread across Violet's face. “Stop what? Come on, dear, we need to go.” She tucked Karla's hand into her elbow and ushered her out the door.

Karla yanked her hand free, needing to both slow things down and to lock her apartment door. “Stop pairing me off with Dylan McDonald!”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Violet's hand went to her chest in the worst attempt at a “who, me?” Karla had ever seen. “The knitting circle is going fishing. You're in the knitting circle. There's no more to it than that.”

There was loads more to it than that. All of this was getting out of hand. Karla fought back with the only thing she could think of. “You've got eyes for my grandfather.” She wasn't quite sure why that made any sense as a deterrent to her current “kidnapping,” but she hadn't even been able to finish her first cup of coffee yet this morning.

At first she was delighted to see that stop Violet in her tracks, but the assessment proved premature. The senior citizen touched her elbow tenderly. “Well of course I do, sweetheart. I think your grandfather is the cat's pajamas.” Her eyes took on a devious twinkle. “He's a grand kisser, that Karl.”

Karla fell against the wall, hand on her forehead. “You've
kissed
Grandpa?”

Violet used this opportunity to zip up Karla's hooded sweatshirt as if she were a five-year-old being shipped off to kindergarten. “You needn't look so shocked. It's the twenty-first century and we're both consenting adults.”

“Does Dad know?” Karla gawked as she returned her zipper to its original low position.

“Oh, I'd never tell him. That one's on Karl.” Violet turned toward the stairwell that led to Tyler Street. “We really do need to get a move on.”

If Violet Sharpton set out to share the one fact guaranteed to get Karla to follow her wherever she went for the next hour, she'd succeeded. She trailed the woman down the stairs, two dozen questions fighting for priority in her head.
How? When? Why?

Why not?
Was it really such an awful thing that Karl Kennedy had found love again in life? Hadn't she suspected the same thing weeks ago?

“How long?” she managed to spurt out as they pushed out the door at the bottom of the stairs.

“About two weeks ago,” Violet trotted down Tyler Street in the direction of the boat docks as if the two of them were discussing the weather or sharing a new cake recipe. She threw a sparkling glance back at Karla. “Of course, that pot's been simmering for nearly a year now. Takes men longer to catch on to these sorts of things, don't you think?”

“I wouldn't know.”

Violet produced a tin of mints from her handbag and offered one to Karla. “Well, and right there's your problem. What is it they say in that song from
Hello, Dolly!
? Something about Mother Nature needing a little help?”

Karla had seen the movie once back in high school, but she remembered enough to draw a striking comparison between the meddling Dolly and the woman currently dragging her toward a fishing boat. “Violet, I don't need your—” she struggled for a polite term “—help on this.”

“Nonsense. I've seen the way he looks at you. For that matter, I've seen the way you look at him. And for crying out loud, I've seen the way he looks, period. What's more of a hottie than a fireman? That's the word you kids use now, isn't it?”

Karla hadn't used the term since high school, but that was beside the point. “Sure, he's nice looking.” She would not bring herself to use the word
hottie
in front of Violet, although she wasn't blind to Dylan's handsome features. “But the timing's way off here. He's committed to Gordon Falls and I'm...”
Leaving in a little over two weeks.
She couldn't say it. Certainly not to Violet if she and Karl were so close. She was going to have to tell Grandpa soon. Really soon. “My plans don't really include living here.”

“Oh, I've heard all about your highbrow breakfast spot plans. I like a woman determined to make her way in the world. But I ask you...” She turned the last corner to wave enthusiastically at the rest of the knitting circle gathered with Dylan on the dock. A cheer went up and Violet pumped her fist victoriously in the air, making Karla feel like some kind of contest prize. “What's the point of any success if there isn't someone to share it with?”

Karla couldn't think of any response except an exasperated groan.

* * *

There had been a regrettable ten-second stretch where Dylan thought this was a good idea. Unfortunately, by the time those ten seconds were up, Violet Sharpton was already headed down the road with her cell phone to her ear. Now, as he watched her walk up to the docks with a decidedly befuddled and not-exactly-awake Karla in tow, he couldn't possibly weigh in on the merits of the plan.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't find her fascinating before, in a clever, woman-going-places kind of way. Her sleek hair, city clothes, the rather exotic way she smelled, even the sophistication of her makeup appealed to him in a way that Gordon Falls' “girl next door” types never had. He'd always gone for the sophisticated women—that wasn't much of a surprise, even if it might have been his downfall.

What
was
a surprise was how the sight of a barely up-and-running Karla charmed him. Somehow, in their earlier fishing trip, she'd still managed to look pulled together. Drowsy, but still her unique brand of low-key stylish. Now, she looked as if Violet had dragged her out of bed. The red headband she wore made the indigo in her eyes pop against her pale skin, even with her hair all sticking up in the back as if she'd slept on it wrong. And the cooking school sweatshirt? It gave her an unkempt, almost-intimate quality that grew rocks in his stomach.
Adorable
was for puppies, baby ducks and the like, but he couldn't come up with another word. Under any other circumstances, the hum in his gut might have had him leaning against the boat rail, chin in his hand, staring at her. He'd have to get that impulse under control before these knitting grandmothers took that ball of yarn and ran with it.

“And good morning to you,” Charlotte Taylor teased, holding out a tin mug of coffee from Dylan's onboard thermos. Charlotte was no grandmother—she was going to be Jesse Sykes's bride in a few months if Jesse went ahead with his plans to pop the question. At least he wouldn't be the only one on the boat in his twenties; on some excursions he felt like the baby of the bunch.

Karla stood on the dock with an amused scowl. “Seems I've been kidnapped to go fishing.”

“There are worse fates,” Jeannie Owens consoled. “And I brought chocolate.” Since Jeannie owned the town candy shop, Dylan suspected she'd be packing confections for the trip. She'd already deposited a small bag of goodies in his captain's chair.

Karla eyed Dylan. “Were you in on this?”

“Absolutely not.” He was glad he didn't have to hedge on that point. Would he have been glad to know she was coming? Yes. A large part of him yearned to get her back out on the river with him—it had been the most fun he'd had in months. As it was, it felt like that moment on a middle school playground where a herd of boys pushes one poor guy up toward an embarrassed middle school girl flanked by a gaggle of conniving friends. He shrugged at Karla. “Still, a day off's a day off, right?”

The ladies sent up a chorus of agreement as they boarded. If he could manage to stay in control of the situation, this still had a shot at being fun. Only that was a whopping “if” with this crowd.

Imagine his surprise when the women settled into their seats quickly to leave the only open seat for Karla up next to him. He kept his eyes on the dock lines rather than reveal how amusing he found the flush in her cheeks. Who knew he'd find the pink shade of her lips even more attractive than the alluring burgundy lip gloss she normally wore?

“Where are we headed?” she asked, her hair still fluttering across her face despite the headband. It was a sensible question, but her eyes flashed an “I have no idea what's going on here” panic. He knew the sensation—it was like being cornered, only a whole lot nicer than that.

“They all want to go where you landed your big fish.”

“That's right,” called Tina from her place at the back of the boat. “We want to come home with big trophy fish, too. Show those men how well a lady can land a whopper.” A chorus of encouragement piped up around the boat. Dylan said a silent prayer for fishing favor—he definitely didn't want to bring these women home empty-handed after they'd been so supportive of him. Only he couldn't quite say if this was commercial support or just the most creative bit of social meddling he'd ever seen.

Pulling into the cove where he'd spent that enjoyable morning with Karla, Dylan dropped anchor and began to get out the poles. “Okay, ladies, how many of you have fished before?”

All hands went up. Good. With a full boat, it was better not to have first-timers. He pulled the tub of bait from the cooler. “You can all bait your own hooks?” Again, all affirmatives—even Karla, who'd surprised him by mastering the art on their last trip. He gave them a few other instructions, finding himself more and more entertained at the constant words of encouragement that flowed back and forth between the women. Men were, for the most part, much more competitive when they fished.