Reclaimed (28 page)

Why? If he didn’t, who would?

“So, it doesn’t bother you at all?”

“I didn’t say that. It does bother me, mostly for you.” His hand moved again, this time to wrap around hers. “But I’m not going to hang on to my mad. It doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Hang on to his mad? Mad clung to her like bugs splattered on her windshield. Why did he get to have a choice about it?

His stomach growled, and he squeezed her hand. “It’s done, Pickle. Close it up and put it in the ground.” He let go and put his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “Find that pretty smile.”

He turned back to the wheel and put the truck in drive. If only she could switch gears as easily.

TWENTY-SIX

Ms. May’s Café was dead. Only one other patron on this rainy November night—old Mr. Whitney who kept a hobby farm north of town. Paul held the door for Suzanna and took her coat, hanging his own beside it on the rack near the entry.

“Hey, Paul, what are doing out on this dreary night?” Alice, Ms. May’s daughter, greeted them from the dining room where she was wiping down tables.

Paul scolded the heat that threatened to color his cheeks. A grown man could take a woman out for a slice a pie. Didn’t need to be self-conscious about it. “Had a taste for your mama’s apple pie. Have any left?”

Alice grinned. “Come on in. Sit wherever you’d like.”

Paul glanced at Suzanna. She was biting the inside of her bottom lip, looking anywhere but at Alice. It was time she ended this cold war with the townsfolk.

He slid a hand to her back and moved toward the table nearest Alice. “Alice, have you met Suzanna Wilton?”

“I haven’t officially.” Alice left her rag on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve seen you here and there but haven’t had the decency to introduce myself. Forgive me. I’m Alice.”

Suzanna’s rigid spine gave a little. She slipped a hand forward to meet Alice’s, and Paul exhaled. Progress. Progress was good.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Suzanna’s words sounded rehearsed, like she’d said them a million times over the years.

All part of the preacher’s kid gig, Paul was sure, but she wasn’t fixing a blank stare or exuding cool indifference. It was a start.

“Go ahead and have a seat.” Alice chirped, either ignorant of or kindly overlooking Suzanna’s stiff greeting. “Can I get you some coffee to go with that pie?”

“You know me.” Paul pulled a chair back for Suzanna.

Alice smiled. “Never turn a cup down.”

“What about you, Suz?” Paul took the seat across from her.

Suzanna’s eyes shifted from Paul to Alice. She suddenly looked more unsure than aloof, like a little girl trying to fit into a roll she wasn’t comfortable with.

“Coffee would be nice.” She forced a small smile. “Do you have decaf?”

Alice stepped closer to Suzanna. “Sure do. What else can I get you?”

“Do you have cherry pie?”

“You bet.” Alice nodded. “À la mode? The ice cream is homemade.”

Suzanna looked at Paul.

“You don’t want to miss Ms. May’s homemade ice cream.” He winked, hoping she’d crack a real grin.

Success. Her smile bloomed, making his grow.

“Ice cream on both. Got it.” Alice stepped away with a nod. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

Suzanna unrolled her napkin and fiddled with the silverware. She kept her attention on the table.

What happened? They could chat and tease like a pair of ducks on the creek when they were sitting at her kitchen table. Why had she clammed up and gone awkward on him? His thoughts drifted back to the ride in and settled on how upset Suzanna was about the church. Upset for him, which was sweet. But it made him wish all the more he could have figured out how to prevent the whole thing.

“Why are you still single?” she asked.

Her voice hinted amazement, which made him laugh. Paul leaned against the back of his chair. Some superhero he’d turned out to be. Everything he’d dreaded had happened, and here she thought he’d done her some kind of favor.

“Seriously”—she said, folding her hands and shifting toward him—“a man like you should have been snatched up at least a decade ago.”

“Thanks?” He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean. Didn’t you want to get married?”

Paul sighed, setting his elbows on the table and using them for support. “I did. Almost a decade ago.” He felt his mouth twitch as her cheeks shaded a rosy pink. “I was engaged, actually, about eight years ago.”

Suzanna’s face drained of the flush he’d found enchanting, and her eyes widened with pity.

An intro like that demanded the rest of the story. She may as well know. Now was as good a time as any to tell it.

“Her name was Hailey. We dated on and off through high school. She was a couple of years younger than me, and when she went away to college, I didn’t see her for several years. She came back for what she called a short-term visit, and I was ready, I thought, for something of a real commitment. We dated for almost two years, and then I proposed.”

He stopped, sorting through those years. Yes, he thought he was ready, and had they married, he’d have made it work. As much as it had hurt in the midst of it all, it was for the best they hadn’t. Not just because he was sitting across from Suzanna Wilton at the moment, but because he and Hailey had been a bad fit.

“What happened?” Suzanna whispered.

Paul took a pull on his water. “She called it off and moved to Denver. I found out later she’d met someone—one of those Internet match sites, which hit pretty hard. I guess she wanted to see what type of guy she’d be matched with, and it went further than she thought. She didn’t have the heart to tell me about him, but it was probably a good thing she ended it when she did.”

Suzanna stared, her eyes glossy and tender. “I’m sorry, Paul. I can’t imagine—”

“Here we are.” Alice stepped next to the table with a tray. Two slices of pie and a pair of steaming mugs settled in front of them in quick order. “Can I get you anything else?”

Paul looked to Suzanna. “You need anything?”

She shook her head, so he thanked Alice. The woman smiled and left them to their conversation.

Suzanna dug her fork into her pie. Red filling oozed over her plate, bleeding with the white of the vanilla ice cream. She blended the two, turning the concoction an appealing shade of pink. She seemed absorbed in her food. Avoiding him?             

Pretty deep topics for a first date, but this wasn’t a typical first date. Had he pushed her away by showing her his deepest scars? Certainly that couldn’t be so. Suzanna wasn’t put off by the battle scars of life—she had some of her own.

“Do you miss her?” She kept her eyes focused on her plate.

Ah, there it was. He should have guessed. Who wouldn’t worry about the imprint of a first love?

“Not now.” Paul took up his own fork and buried it in the pastry and hot apples. “I did the first year after she left. I spent a lot more time down at the river property. Even thought about moving. There wasn’t a spot in this town that didn’t hold a memory of her and me together, and I thought I’d go crazy staying here. But my sister and those kids… I learned quite a bit about love as well as pain during that time. Found out that love runs deeper.”

Her eyes flickered to his. He’d hit something. She held his gaze, studying him as if she were searching for something to latch onto. She lowered her eyes, and Paul rubbed the back of his neck. It was like she wanted the more in their relationship that he longed for himself, but every time she’d creep to the threshold, something pulled her away.

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“Not since the day she said good-bye.” Eight years was a long time. He’d let it go. Apparently, Hailey had too. Was Suzanna going to?

She picked at her pie and nursed her coffee. Quiet settled around their table, making Paul feel like a failure. Where was the chemistry that had kept him coming back day after day?

Oh, there was chemistry. He’d felt the energy every time they’d locked eyes, every time he brushed her skin.

He slid a hand across the table and traced her knuckles. Sparks of pleasure tingled through his fingers. Definitely chemistry. Just not conversation.

That wouldn’t do.

“So…” He wove his fingers in hers.

She looked first to his hand, knitted with hers and then to his face. Those eyes softened into a cozy shade of blue, and Paul’s chest expanded. He drew an easy breath before he finished his thought. “I was wondering about the picture Kelsey painted for you.”

She smiled and leaned against her chair. “That was sweet of her.”

“Sugar runs in the family.”

Suzanna rolled her eyes, and Paul laughed. They were on the road back to normal. He rubbed his thumb along hers. Better than normal.

“I was asking about the subject she painted, not whether you liked it. What was it?”

Her smile softened. “An orchard. Cherries.”

Yes, he’d gathered that from their conversation. He was asking the wrong questions and not getting anywhere in the process. “Why did she paint that?”

Suzanna set her fork down and drew her hand away. “She knew I liked orchards.”

Studied horticulture. She and her dad had dreamed of an orchard. The math was coming together. Good grief, he was slow. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She shifted in her chair. Her hands fell to her lap, and she refused to meet his eyes.

Why would she be ashamed of that?

“Suz, if that’s still your dream—what you want to do—then why have we been talking about cows for the last six weeks?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nobody around here does anything like that. My dad didn’t even try it, and it was his passion first.”

Not even thirty and the woman had given up. How unacceptably sad. Hope, cut short and left frayed. How had that happened?

“People grow fruit trees here.” He set his fork down and leaned against the table. “Dre has an apple tree in her backyard.”

“I know, but an orchard is different.” She sighed and then lifted her gaze to meet his. “It’s risky. I could lose everything in a single season, and it’s not like Rock Creek has the population base to make a big draw for a you-pick farm. It’s just more complicated than sticking plant stock into the ground and hoping it’ll produce.”

Paul couldn’t argue with that. Agriculture in general was way more complicated than it appeared. He didn’t set a cow loose on the prairie and then turn around and sell at a profit the following year. Raising beef cattle was work. Hard work. He wouldn’t doubt that growing fruit would be the same.

But he loved the work he did. There weren’t many who could say that with sincerity. He knew how privileged he was to chase down a dream and live it every day.

“If you don’t try, you’ll never know.”

Life lit her eyes for a skip of the heart before it faded, leaving her silent.

“Maybe this is what your dad wanted for you.” Paul moved his chair closer to her. “He loved you. Maybe he wanted to give you an opportunity to try.”

A sheen of tears suddenly covered her eyes. “If it doesn’t work, that means I let him down.”

He shook his head and reached for her hand again. “I think he’d have been more disappointed if you didn’t give it a go.”             

Thought lines creased her forehead while she mashed her lips together. Paul made up his mind. He’d make this possible for her. Whatever she needed, they’d make it happen.

“You’ve thought about it,” he said. “I know you have. Kelsey wouldn’t know to paint that picture otherwise.”

One side of her mouth poked upward. That was all the encouragement he needed. “Did you have a spot in mind?”

A silent laugh set her smile in full bloom, which made him grin, even if she still refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m not sure.” She sipped her coffee. “I saw a couple of spots that looked promising. But the soil needs to be tested, and I’d need to get a topo map to make sure the ground isn’t in a flood plain.”

Paul nodded. He settled back against the chair and took a long draw of his coffee. He’d have her show him. They could go on horseback, and he’d fan that tiny spark of enthusiasm.

Alice made her way back to the table. “How is everything?”

Mr. Whitney had long since paid his bill and left the dining room to Paul and Suzanna. Paul flipped his wrist to check his watch. Five after ten. Man, time got away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Alice.” He pulled his wallet out and handed her a twenty dollar bill. “I’m sure you’re ready to get home.”

“No problem, Paul.” She smiled. “We’re glad for the business.” She shuffled through some bills she kept in her apron.

Paul held up a hand. “Keep it.”

Alice looked like she’d argue, but Paul stood, effectively closing the conversation. He moved to the entry to retrieve their coats and held Suzanna’s open for her.