The Sweetheart Secret (27 page)

“And every week we pick a letter to answer, giving advice culled from decades of experience,” Greta was saying as Colt approached. “We are always looking for someone who needs our advice. Or helpful . . . nudges.”

Colt came up behind Daisy, resisting the urge to put his hands on her waist and spin her into his arms. She sensed him behind her and pivoted. For a second, a smile lingered on her face and his heart stuttered. Then the smile died and his heart fell.

“Colt. You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He felt as awkward as a teenager at his first dance, especially with the ladies of Golden Years watching his every move. “I'm surprised to see you here.”

“I came by to meet Olivia and Greta to talk about the final details for the wedding on Saturday.”

“It's going to be lovely. On the beach, at the end of the day. The Hideaway Inn provides the perfect backdrop for a sunset wedding.” Pauline sighed. “So romantic.”

Harold came up to table, and sidled into place beside Greta. “Wedding? Well, I can think of one lovely lady who is going to need a date.” He put out an arm, and patted the elbow, gesturing for her to link hers. “Greta, dear, would you accompany me to Olivia and Luke's wedding?”

“I can accompany my own damned self.” She jerked her arm away. “Besides, it's almost flu season. I have no idea where your hands and nose have been. I wouldn't take a chance on infecting myself by coming into contact with possible contagion.”

Harold just chuckled. He leaned over, and before she could stop him, pressed a light, quick kiss to Greta's cheek. “They say the best way to avoid the flu is to get exposed. Call that your Harold vaccination.”

“Would that there was such a thing,” she grumbled.

Colt chuckled. “Don't knock it. There are advances in medical science every day.”

Greta scowled and gave Harold a little shove. He took a half step back, but didn't leave. The other men got up from the poker game and came over to the table, flanking Harold like a backup team.

“Where's your grandfather?” Daisy asked, peering around Colt. “I'd like to say hello to him. Is he doing okay?”

“He's his usual self.” Colt nodded toward the exit doors. “Refused to come with me and said he wanted to stay in the car.”

Walt frowned. “You mean he's here, and decided not to see us?”

“He's still licking his wounds, Walt.” Colt put out his hands. “What can I say?”

“Let me go talk to him. Straighten this thing out once and for all.”

The three of them headed out of Golden Years, with Walt leading the way, a man on a mission, it seemed. Before they even reached the parking lot, lead sank in Colt's gut. He saw an empty space between two yellow lines. “My car is gone.”

“Who would take . . .” Daisy's voice trailed off. “Grandpa Earl?”

Colt nodded, his posture calm, but his mind a wild whirlwind. He'd never thought Grandpa would do something like this, and wondered for a second if maybe the other cruel partner to Parkinson's—dementia—was starting to set in. Had Grandpa forgotten where he was? Why he was in the lot? And just driven off to somewhere far, far from here?

Colt had left the car with a half a tank of gas. That gave Grandpa a good two hundred miles before the tank ran empty—enough mileage to get pretty much anywhere in the state of Florida. “Damn it. I never should have left the keys in the car.”

“I'm sure he didn't go far, Colt. Is there a friend he might go see or a church or something?”

Colt scoffed. “No. Not my grandpa. He probably got pissed at me for bringing him here or for taking him to the doctor or for criticizing his breakfast choice, and decided to strand me. He didn't use to be like this and no matter how hard I try, it doesn't get better between us. I swear, I have no idea how to get him back.”

“He's gone through a lot the last few years, Colt. Losing Henry, and then Nancy . . .” A sad smile filled Walt's face. He looked out over the road, empty now, quiet. Then back at the space where Colt's car had been parked. “I think I know where he went.”

*   *   *

Daisy drove because it kept her from having to look at Colt, and focusing on the road kept her from wanting to hold Colt's hand. Walt had given Colt a strong, man-to-man hug, then gone back inside. She sensed that whatever Walt wanted to talk to Earl about was going to wait, and that right now, Earl's friend realized his grandson should be the one to bring him back from wherever he'd gone.

Save for “Take a right here,” and “Left at the light,” Colt didn't say a word on the ride. Daisy tightened her grip on the steering wheel and told herself she wasn't hurt.

But she was.

She'd asked for this, though. By keeping him out of her own life, by keeping her own cards close to her chest. Colt had opened up and told her all about that heartbreaking day his brother had died, and what had she done when he asked her about her life?

Divorced him.

“Take this turn,” Colt said, the words soft and sad.

She did as he said, then wove her way down the curving road and around to the back, past the lines of trees, the manicured shrubs, the well-tended flowers, until she saw Colt's Honda parked beside a low white concrete bench.

Earl's hunched body filled the center of the bench. He had his elbows on his knees, his head down, and a paper-wrapped cone of flowers drooped from one hand. Daisy parked, then shut off the car. Colt didn't say a word, just got out and crossed to his grandfather.

The two of them sat there a long time, not saying a word, as still as figures in a painting. In the distance, Daisy heard the sound of a lawnmower roaring to life. Some birds calling to each other, and far, far away, the traffic on the freeway progressing at a steady hum.

Earl stared straight ahead at the two oval headstones before them. The first had a slight green tint to the concrete, and a trail of ivy curling up the side and over the top. The second, newer, gleamed in the sun, and the letters for
NANCY HARPER, BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER
, shone where the granite had been chipped away.

But it was the first headstone that held Daisy's attention.

HENRY HARPER, SON, BROTHER, GONE TOO SOON.

And then the date, a date Daisy knew well. It had been a sunny spring day in New Orleans, and she'd been coming home from the store, groceries in her arms, a smile on her face, ready to make dinner for her new husband and to settle into this life of domesticity. She'd gone upstairs, and found empty drawers, an empty closet, and a note. Her heart broke for Colt all over again, for the tragic, horrible loss of that little boy with the infectious laugh.

The two men sat there a long time. Daisy stayed in the car, the windows down to let in a breeze, giving them space, privacy. And she whispered a silent prayer that this time, these two men she was beginning to care very deeply about, would find a way to bridge the rocky gulf between them.

*   *   *

Earl Harper wasn't a man who opened up a vein and let it bleed. He was raised in a time when men kept their emotions buried and sucked the hell up, whether they'd lost a finger in an accident or a grandson in a tragedy. He'd done a damned good job of sucking it up, years and years of burying every emotion he ever had. Where'd it get him?

Sitting on a cold stone bench in a cemetery. Next thing he knew, he'd be part of the ground here, and Lord help him, he didn't want to have his time come before he lost a second grandson to his own stubbornness.

“I've been a shitty grandfather,” Earl said.

Colt turned on the bench. “No you haven't. Why would you say that?”

“Because it's true. I've treated you like crap. Resisted your medical advice. Called you an idiot—”

“Only a couple times.” Colt grinned.

“A couple times too many.” Earl tore off a long blade of grass and tossed the pieces onto the ground. “I wasn't raised to be a huggy kind of guy. Hell, I don't even like to smile.”

Colt chuckled. “You're grumpy, but you're not that bad.”

“Okay, maybe not.” Earl looked down at the two granite slabs that marked the graves of two of the people he'd loved most in the world. Maybe it was time to quit being so damned stubborn. Nancy would have read him the riot act for the way he'd been acting lately, and rightly so. She'd had a way of bringing out the best in him, and with her gone, it was like he'd lost that side of him. “I've been blaming you, because it's easier than blaming myself.”

“For what?”

“For not being there that day.” He shook his head and let out a curse. “Eight years, I never missed a fishing trip. Eight goddamned years, I went with you boys, twice a week, like clockwork. That day, though, I told Henry I couldn't go. My business had been hurting the last few weeks before, and I had a rush job come in. Some snowbird, needing his car fixed after it broke down coming down here. Offered me double just to get it done that night. I told Henry, hey, we'll go tomorrow.”

“But he didn't wait.”

Earl sighed and shook his head. “I'd taken him fishing the last two weeks before, when you were . . . away. Just him and me. He kept telling me he was older now,
Let me drive the boat, Grandpa, let me throw out the anchor
. So I let him. You know, that's how boys learn. You let them try, let them fail, and they learn. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Colt put an arm around his grandfather's shoulders. Earl seemed ten times more frail, a hundred times more heartbroken. “You were. You couldn't have known he would try to go out by himself.”

“I never should have shown him. I should have made him wait till he was older. Ten, eleven.” Grandpa's voice cracked and when he turned to Colt, his eyes were filled with tears, his face washed with regret, sorrow. “He was too young, Colt, too damned young.”

“I know. I know.” Colt's voice broke.

“I miss him, like somebody tore off my left arm and just left me to bleed to death. Every day since that boy died, I've felt like that. Hell, half the time I wanted to die myself. The only thing that kept me going was Nancy. Then she died and . . . I didn't see the point anymore.”

“So that's why you won't take your medicine or go to the specialists. Just let it happen.” Colt shook his head. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, but he didn't give a damn. “Didn't you ever think that maybe I need you, too?”

Earl scoffed. “You don't need me. Hell, you're ten times smarter than I ever was. You always have been.”

“Every boy needs his grandpa,” Colt said softly. “You're the one who taught me everything I know.”

Earl scoffed again and shook his head.

“About girls and engines and fixing broken water pipes. But most of all, Grandpa, you taught me that it's a good thing to find a job you love and be the best damned one at it that you can be. People come up to me every day and tell me what a good mechanic you were. How you fixed their car when they were out of work, and wouldn't take money from them. How you rebuilt an engine or pulled out a dent late on a Saturday night because someone needed to go out of town on Monday to visit their sick sister. I can only pray I turn out to be half the man you are.”

“You really mean that?”

“Hell, yes. You're my hero, Grandpa. You always have been.”

Earl dropped his gaze. A tear puddled on his leg. He swiped at his face. “Thank you, Colt, but I don't deserve that. I just fix cars. You fix people. Save their lives. If anyone's the hero here, it's you.”

“The only life I care about saving is yours, Grandpa.”

Earl raised his gaze to his grandson's and held it a long while. His vision blurred, his throat closed, but he let those words sink into him, before he nodded and said, “Okay, Colt. Okay.”

Colt drew his grandfather into a long, tight hug, the kind that reminded him of when he'd been a little boy and had grabbed his grandfather at the end of those Sunday fishing trips, wanting so bad to stay in that warm maple-syrup-scented house with his indulgent grandparents, instead of going home to a pristine world of rules and expectations. He held on to his grandfather for as long as he could, because it was all he could do, and all he'd ever really wanted.

Emma had spent two weeks at the Hideaway Inn. Her quick weekend away had turned into an extended stay, and now with bookings starting to fill the calendar, Daisy was going to need Emma even more. The renovations were nearly complete, and there was a crew working on the patio today, setting up chairs and tables for Luke and Olivia's wedding later today.

She had called her mother a couple times, keeping the conversations upbeat and short. Still, half her mind was back in Jacksonville, knowing that she eventually had to return and make a final decision about her marriage.

A car swung into the circular drive of the Hideaway. It took her a second to realize it was Roger's sedan, dusty from the four-hour trip from Jacksonville. Her heart leapt to her throat. Was he here to tell her in person that he'd filed for divorce?

Roger stepped out of the car, sunglasses hiding his eyes. He started toward the front steps of the Hideaway, then saw her standing on the beach and detoured in her direction. As he approached, she saw that he wasn't dressed in the neat, perfectly pressed clothes he normally wore. Instead, he wore rumpled shorts and an old faded T-shirt she remembered buying for him years ago. She stayed where she was, cemented in place, until Roger reached her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for my wife.”

The words caused a little hitch in her breath. “I'm not your wife, Roger. We're separated. You made the announcement yourself.”

He sighed. “I did it because I was frustrated. I felt like we weren't going anywhere and I might as well accept the inevitable.”

“Inevitable? You're the one who moved out. You're the one who gave up. I'm the one who kept trying.” She turned away, cursing the tears that burned at the back of her eyes.

He circled around to stand in front of her. “You're right.”

The two words hung in the air between them. Said so simply, so sure, that the argument she'd been bracing to launch died in her throat.

“I'm sorry,” Roger said. “I let us slip away, a little at a time. I got consumed by my job, by that book contract, by all the things that I thought would make me happy. Then we had that night together . . . and then you proposed the weekend away, and I blew it. I thought I couldn't have both.”

“Both what?”

“Both the career I'd always dreamed of and the marriage I'd always wanted. So I moved out, and moved on, and then I was sitting there in my apartment by the campus, spending two full days wandering around like a lost puppy. I couldn't understand what was missing, why I felt so . . . derailed. And then I realized something.”

She couldn't read his face. “What?”

He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket, then clasped her hands in his own. His dark eyes met hers, and held, for the first time in forever. “That the career didn't matter. Didn't mean a damned thing. Not without you by my side.” He shook his head, and sadness filled his features. “How did we get so offtrack, Emma?”

“We stopped trying. Both of us.” She'd been just as guilty as Roger, letting her marriage wither away rather than fighting the inertia that had crept in like a slow flood. “We never should have quit.”

A sad smile stole across Roger's face. “Quitting's so much easier.”

“So . . .” She let out a breath. “What now?”

“I unload my car and set up my computer.” He brushed the bangs off her face and rested his palm against her cheek. “I booked a room at the Hideaway Inn for the next twelve months.”

“You . . . what?”

“I took my sabbatical, packed up my car, and came here to be with you, Emma. I'll write and help you, and we'll try again. If . . .” He hesitated, and Emma realized she had never seen her driven, confident husband so unsure before. “If that's okay with you.”

She drew in a breath. “Before I answer, I have something to tell you.”

His touch fluttered. “Okay.”

“Remember that night a couple months ago? Well . . .” She exhaled the breath. “I'm pregnant.”

Roger's dark eyes searched her face. Confusion filled his eyes, then yielded to joy. “Really?”

She nodded. “Listen, I understand if this changes things. I know you didn't want kids while you were still trying to build your career at the university and—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “None of that means a damned thing without you. And”—he dropped his hand to her belly—“our future.”

They stood there a long time, enjoying each other, kissing, talking, laughing, then Roger told her to stay where she was while he unloaded the car and got them both some ginger ale for a toast.

When Roger was gone, Emma stood on the beach and looked out at the ocean. She wrapped her arms around herself and smiled. The sun warmed her face, her hands, and filled her chest. She watched the water wash in and out, in and out, and for the first time in months, felt . . .

Peace.

It wasn't perfect, and there were still a lot of unanswered questions and decisions that lay ahead of them both, but for now, this would do. She'd have to call her mother and tell her that she wasn't coming back to Jacksonville. If there was one thing sure to cheer Clara up, it was being told she'd been right all along.

“There you are,” Daisy said, coming up beside Emma. “I can't believe we've finally reopened this place.”

“You did it, Dase. It was all you.”

She waved that off. “It was Nick and his crew, and you, and a big fat loan.”

Emma turned to face her cousin. “None of this would have happened without you. You believed in it, you believed in me, and there were times when you believed enough for all of us. You got that first event booked, you managed to get that loan, and you brought the Hideaway Inn back to life, and in a way, you brought me back, too. Don't discount that. It's a big deal. A really big deal.”

Daisy watched a sailboat cutting through the water, as easily as a knife through melted butter. “I never imagined I would do anything that mattered. I mean, I've been a waitress most of my life. I never served anyone a cheeseburger that changed their life.” She laughed a little. “But I'm glad this changed things for you. I've been worried about you, cuz.”

Emma drew in a long breath and let it out. “I'm better now. Or I will be. And if you still want me to run the inn with you, I'm going to stay.”

“Really? But what about Roger and your job in Jacksonville?”

“I hated my job in Jacksonville. I never liked working at that insurance company. And my photography business can go where I go. As for Roger . . .” She watched the water for a while more, then a smile bubbled to the surface of her face. “He's here. He wants to stay and try again. He took a sabbatical, so we have a whole year to figure this out.”

Daisy draped an arm around Emma's shoulders and drew her close. “That's wonderful. I'm so glad for you.”

“Are you staying here, too?” Emma asked.

Daisy shrugged. “I'm thinking about it. You know me and settling down in one place. I don't do it well.”

“That's because you've never tried. And you've never had the right incentive.”

“Incentive? Right now, all my incentives are telling me to leave.” She glanced down the beach, in the direction where Colt's house lay.

“Well, what if I gave you an extra reason to stay and help me?”

“Extra reason?”

Emma drew in a breath again, and faced Daisy. The joy in her heart threatened to burst. “I'm . . . pregnant.”

Surprise dawned in Daisy's face, followed by a giant smile. “Really? I can't believe it. Oh, when, how? Never mind, it doesn't matter.” She drew Emma into a tight hug. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with my best friend.”

“And running the Hideaway Inn together? Resurrecting a little of the past?”

“While also changing our futures.” Daisy gave Emma a happy, goofy smile. And in the conviction in Daisy's eyes, Emma found hope.

*   *   *

Either Daisy was hormonal or she was getting sappy in her thirties. Late on Saturday afternoon, when Olivia stepped barefoot onto the flower-strewn trail on the beach and walked toward a beaming Luke, something caught in Daisy's throat. The music swelled, then Olivia and Luke took each other's hands as the minister called for everyone to be seated.

True to Olivia's word, there were only about fifty people in attendance at the wedding. Greta and the girls, Walt, Harold, and the rest of the poker gang, as well as Diana and Mike and his daughters. Earl had arrived just a few minutes before the ceremony and taken a seat with Daisy, Emma, and Roger in the back row. She'd asked him where Colt was, and Earl just shook his head.

She tried not to think about Colt, tried to pretend she didn't care that he wasn't here. She had divorced him, and that meant she was supposed to let him go, not let every word the minister spoke to Luke and Olivia remind her of her own wedding.

The sun kissed the horizon just as the minister pronounced them man and wife. Luke cradled Olivia's face in his hands, then leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet, like she was a treasure he had waited a lifetime to find.

Daisy looked away, and told herself it didn't hurt her heart. Didn't make her want to dive into the ocean and lose herself in the deep blue nothing.

When the music swelled again, Daisy forced back the lump in her throat, plastered a smile on her face, and rose to give Olivia a hug as she and Luke headed back up the aisle. The guests began to mingle and head toward the reception on the patio, while Emma and Daisy picked up the flowers. Roger kept his eye on his wife, as if he couldn't believe she was really here. It was such a sweet sight, and one that sent another lump into Daisy's throat.

“Beautiful wedding,” Emma said.

“Absolutely.”

“And it made you miserable the entire time.” Emma put a hand around Daisy's shoulder. “Why don't you just tell him that you are madly in love with him?”

“Because I'm not. He's all wrong for me. All rules and organization and permanence.”

“Sounds to me like a list of things you've been looking for all your life, all rolled up into one handsome package.”

“I miss the man I did fall in love with. The risk taker. The motorcycle and the leather jacket. That Colt was the one who understood me.”

“Just because a man trades his motorcycle for a suit and tie doesn't change who he is inside. I think you're just scared and looking for an excuse.”

“I think I better get these flowers up to the reception before they wilt.” Daisy started forward, then hesitated when she heard a guttural roaring sound, thudding like a heartbeat, increasing in volume, rumbling the air, the ground. A low-slung black motorcycle prowled down the circular drive of the Hideaway Inn, then came to a stop. The driver kicked out the stand on the side, then swung his leg over the silver and black beast.

“I'll take those flowers,” Emma said. She gave Daisy a nudge. “And you better go see who's late to the wedding.”

She walked up the path that led to the front of the building, waiting, her breath caught in her throat, for the driver to take off his helmet. He just leaned against the bike and waited for her. He had on dark-wash denim jeans, a thick black leather jacket, and—

A button-down shirt and tie.

Daisy started to laugh. She shook her head, sure she was seeing things, then he took off the helmet and gave her a grin.

“Sorry I'm late,” Colt said.

“You're not late. You only missed the wedding, not the reception.” She tried not to read anything into his appearance. After all, Olivia and Luke had invited him, so that didn't mean he was here for any other reason than to celebrate a friend's marriage. Except . . . he was riding a motorcycle and wearing a leather jacket, as if she'd conjured up the old Colt by talking about him. “What are you doing with all . . . this?”

“Showing you that I'm not just a khakis guy.” He flicked at the Windsor knot. “Though I didn't give up the tie.”

She grinned. “It is a wedding, after all. Ties are appropriate.”

“That's what I hear.” He hung the helmet on the handlebars, then closed the distance between them. “So, too, is having a date.”

So he had come for her? Joy burst in her heart, chased by the familiar fears that had ruled her life for so many years. “Oh, Colt, I'm working and busy and . . .”

Her voice trailed off when he took her hand, put something in her palm, then closed her fingers over it. “Remember when you made me buy you one of these? Maybe we both should have taken that promise to heart. Always remember to take chances, Daisy.”

She opened her fingers. A pair of black and white plastic dice dangled from the ring holding the motorcycle's key. Plastic and cheesy, and just like the pink ones that she had kept all those years. “Colt . . . I don't know what to say to this.”