Mended Hearts (10 page)

“You're not thinking of cutting your hair, are you?” It was no concern of his, but the very idea sat wrong with Jeff. In an age when so many women went short and sassy, he loved Hannah's long, tumbling curls. Today's braid just reminded him that braids could be undone. “Maybe. Why?”

He kept his tone neutral with effort. “Your hair is beautiful, Hannah. It's perfect.”

Surprise and pleasure infused her cheeks with color, but he was pretty sure she veered from serious talk for the same reasons he did, because this could never work. “Well, thank you, Jeff. I like your hair, too.”

She was laughing at him. Oh, not out loud, she was too nice for that, but inside? Yeah, he was sure of it. But he'd been around the block often enough to know how far he could bend without breaking.

He sent her an easy grin over the paper cartons, gripped her fingers lightly and tried not to think of how cool and soft her skin felt as he said grace.

 

“Done.” Hannah settled the last carton into the refrigerator. “Would you mind if we take a quick walk around the neighborhood? Otherwise I might fall asleep while you factor stones and dimensions.”

Jeff grabbed her jacket and his. “Works for me. Our days of nice weather are dwindling.”

“That's for sure.” Hannah fastened her coat, stepped outside and drew in a deep breath. “But this is wonderful, isn't
it? What a great neighborhood you live in. All these old homes. The trees. The streetlights. Positively poetic.”

“You like poetry, Hannah?”

“Doesn't everyone?” She read his expression and burst out laughing. “Guess not. I expect your mother had a time with you, trying to balance your quest for scientific exploration with ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' on the keyboard.”

“I didn't make it easy for her,” Jeff admitted. He kicked a tiny stone off the sidewalk and watched it skitter away. “I love trying new things. Reinventing the wheel. I had a hard time understanding why she wanted me to do things I wasn't naturally good at while messing with the time I wanted to devote to what I liked.”

“Because variety
is
important.” Hannah eyed the starlit sky between gold-tinged maple boughs; the changing color intensified with each passing day. “And a parent's job as primary educator is to create that balance because they have an adult vantage point.”

“You're a teacher.”

He studied her, surprised. She pulled in a breath and fought a wince. “Yes.”

“What did you teach?”

“High school science.”

“Ah.” He nodded, appeased. “I wondered why scientific jargon slipped into your speech so easily. I expect you were good.”

Her face showed mixed emotion. “It was a long time ago. I like what I do now. It's peaceful.”

“But is it exciting?” Jeff wondered out loud.

Hannah shook her head. “No, and that's just another reason to love it.”

He accepted her words, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a science teacher to be working part-time in a hamlet-sized library. Should he ask why she stopped?

Her expression told him to hold back.

He had time, as far as he knew. Now what he needed was patience, and that had been on his mother's prayer list for decades. Walking with Hannah? Talking with her? Getting to know the woman within?

That was worth every patient moment he could muster.

N
o way could he wait until Wednesday night's board meeting to see Hannah again. The fact that this was his first thought on a bleak Sunday morning made Jeff take notice.

He called her cell phone but when his call went directly to voice mail, he realized her phone was either off or uncharged. He left a message, got cleaned up and headed toward Jamison for church, not even trying to pretend he wasn't hoping to see her. Maybe grab that breakfast she'd offered the week before. He headed over to Holy Name, slipped into the back of the old stone church and realized it was rock-band Sunday when the pounding of drums nearly pierced his ears.

Then Hannah slipped into the pew beside him.

“You're late,” he whispered, refusing to disguise his pleasure.

She shook her head. “Nah, I'm not. I went to Good Shepherd to sit with you and avoid the first-Sunday-of-the-month amplifiers over here. But then I saw you racing up the steps…”

“Running a touch behind,” he admitted, wondering if she knew how perfectly her mottled blue scarf matched her eyes. “So you came over here to join me? Without earplugs?”

Her answering smile said enough. The way she turned her
attention to the altar meant she didn't dare pursue this line of conversation at this moment.

Which only meant there'd be another time and another place, and Jeff was okay with that.

 

“Breakfast?” he asked as they headed down the church steps later, his ears reverberating from the church's less than perfect acoustics. “My treat.”

Her bright smile encouraged him to edge closer, but she shook her head, regretful. “Not today. I've got a gazillion things to catch up on, and I promised myself I'd do them today because we have the Wednesday night council meeting, the Thursday night fundraising meeting and next weekend is the Farmer's Fair and Harvest Dinner. I'm swamped.”

“I'll help.”

“With my laundry? Umm…no.”

He laughed. “Then I'll help with other stuff. If we work together we can spend the later part of the day doing something fun.”

“You don't have anything to do today?”

Her words reminded him of last Sunday's debacle, but he wouldn't lie to her. “I've got contract bids I need to go over, but I don't want a repeat of last week.”

“And it's football season.”

“So?” He paused at her car, watched as she unlocked the door and then offered a solution. “You go home and do your laundry and whatever else you need to get done. I'll go over my contracts and pick you up around two.”

“Make it four.”

He shook his head. “Too late and too long to wait.” Color invaded her cheeks at his words and he smiled, grazing a finger against the flushed skin. “Three. And that's four hours longer than I care for.”

Her gaze melted. She squared her shoulders, trying to look businesslike, but from the occasional looks Jeff intercepted
from passersby, no one mistook their conversation for library business. “Three o'clock. I'll pick you up. Wear jeans.”

“Bossy.”

Her pleased smile softened the crisp response. He pushed her door closed, leaned down and grinned, giving her mouth a look of longing that seemed to deepen her expression. He nodded, letting his appreciative look speak for him. “See you then.”

 

Jeff Brennan managed to put her in a tailspin with a simple look, a gentle smile, despite her best efforts to keep him at bay.

Keep him at bay? You ran over to Holy Name the minute you caught sight of him. That's not exactly maintaining an arm's length.

Hannah pressed cool hands against her warm cheeks as she decided she was not sick, just flustered.

It was delightful.

But also scary.

You will not dredge up fear and foreboding. Weren't you listening this morning, hearing Isaiah's words? “Do not be afraid. I am with you always. Follow me, and I will give you rest.”

Hannah settled laundry into various drawers and took a clutch of hangers to the closet. She withdrew several summery tops with one hand and refilled the spot with long-sleeved blouses and turtlenecks. Her toe caught the box she'd stuffed in there, edging it forward. The closet floor was too shaded to see Brian's bold, black script, but she didn't need a visual to picture the slanted
H
and
M,
evidence of Brian's decisive flair.

Open it.

Not today. Today she was outdistancing the past by embracing the future. No matter what might come of this attrac
tion to Jeff Brennan, wallowing in the past was no longer an option.

She finished stowing things away and barely had enough time to brush her teeth and fluff her hair before her doorbell rang at two-fifty. She strode to the door and yanked it open. “You're early.”

He grinned and unlatched the screen door. “Couldn't wait any longer.”

His words lifted her heart, soothed her soul. The feeling of being cared for was one of God's most natural highs. She waved him in, scurried into the bathroom for a hair clip and scolded, “Do you know how much a girl can get done in ten minutes, Jeff?”

He laughed from the living room and shot back, “Considering the girl's God-given beauty, there's little that needs doing.”

So sweet of him to say so. She clipped back her hair, touched up her mascara and rejoined him in the front room. He gave her an appreciative smile, then motioned to Nick's family photo on the bookshelf. “This wasn't here a few weeks ago.”

Add great powers of observation to his list of many talents, Hannah decided. “My brother Nick, his wife, Leah, and their brand-new baby girl, Caitlyn Jean. I've got the honor of being her godmother on Thanksgiving weekend.”

Jeff traced the baby's face with one blunt finger, the gentle action sweet beyond words. “She's beautiful.”

Hannah smiled. “She is. My mom says she looks like a combination of Leah and me.”

Jeff eyed the photo, tilted it, examining the baby's profile. Then he frowned and shook his head, humor glinting in his eyes. “You drool more.”

“Stop.” Hannah snatched the picture out of his hands. She waved to her jeans, turtleneck and thick, fleeced hoodie. “Is this good for whatever we're doing?”

“Perfect. Let's go.”

“What
are
we doing?” she asked as they headed down the porch steps.

His car wasn't there. Instead he opened the door of a pickup truck that had seen better days. “We're driving this?”

He grinned. “Yup.”

“But…”

“In.” He waved a hand, then pretended to wince as she clutched his shoulder to climb up. “Nice grip, Han.”

She waved his complaint away as he climbed in the driver's side. “What's the plan?”

“You'll see.”

A surprise. Hannah had been alive long enough to know that surprises could either enchant or disappoint, but the gleam in Jeff's eye said this one should be fun. And when they pulled up to Breckenridge Farm a few minutes later, she was sure of it.

“Okay.” Jeff looked around, puzzled, then waved a hand to the gorgeous fall displays and Hannah. “Pick.”

“Pick what?”

“I don't know. Stuff. We're going to decorate our porches for harvest season. It's one of the things we do down here before the Farmer's Fair. Your landlord won't care, will she?”

“No.”

“Good. It's silly to have unfestive porches, right? Downright unpatriotic.”

“I couldn't agree more. Where do we start?”

“Straw,” Jeff decided. He walked to a stack and removed four bales of straw and stacked them in the back of the pickup.

“And cornstalks for the pillars,” Hannah told him. She moved to a huge tepee-style display and handed Jeff eight bunches of cornstalks.

“You don't think this is too many?” he asked, stretching his neck around the cumbersome bundles to see her.

“You have four pillars. I have four pillars. We both have lampposts, and you have that cute decorative fence by the front sidewalk. You can't decorate your porch without carrying the theme throughout.”

“Far be it from me to mess with a theme.” He hauled the bundled cornstalks into the bed of the truck. “And now pumpkins.”

“And squash.”

“I love squash,” he told her as they lined up an assortment of pumpkins, then balanced the effect with a mix of squashes. “Butternut is my favorite.”

“Mine, too.” She smiled up at him, the thought of sharing a favorite squash far more pleasant than it should have been. “I like it with brown sugar and butter. And lots of cinnamon.”

“I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.” He eyed their stash and shook his head. “Something's missing.”

“Whimsy.”

“Say what?”

Hannah waved toward the far side of the quaint, aged barn. “Fanciful. Fun.” She led him to a shed display of scarecrows and birdhouses surrounded by seasonally toned ribbons in nylon and raffia. “I think for your house we should get him.” She pointed to a funny-faced scarecrow on a stick, perfect for posing in the hay, his blue jeans topped by red hunter plaid. A bright yellow hat completed the straw man's ensemble.

“And she would look great on my porch,” Hannah explained, withdrawing a slightly stout straw woman in a blue flowered dress, her dark green hat embellished with fall-toned flowers.

“Why can't she stay on my porch?” asked Jeff. “They could keep each other company.”

Hannah leaned close, whispering the obvious. “They're not married.”

It was an innocent bit of teasing, so why did he turn her
way, his expression all sweet and serious, as if the fate of two wooden stick scarecrows meant something?

Hannah swallowed hard. Jeff's questioning look pushed common sense and fear aside.

“I know a preacher.” Jeff matched her soft tone as he moved closer, his gaze roaming her face until it settled on her lips. “Several, in fact.”

“Do you?” She read the question in his eyes and couldn't pretend she wasn't thinking the exact same thing. She raised one hand and traced his face, his jaw, the sandpaper feel ruggedly male beneath her fingers.

Jeff slipped an arm around her waist, waiting for her to object or duck away, but that was the last thing Hannah wanted to do, although she knew she should. She puffed a breath, a tiny sigh that made him smile and draw her closer before he slanted his mouth over hers, the gentle pressure of his mouth, his embrace, like a wanderer finding home.

The strength of his hands, the stubble of late-day skin, the scent of him, all fresh air and hay with a hint of coffee. Standing there in the privacy of the rustic shed, with Jeff's lips on hers, it was almost easy to think about things like preachers and weddings.

For the scarecrows, that is.

Hannah drew back, ending the kiss, but she trailed a finger of contentment along his cheek, his chin, before indicating the straw woman with a quick look. “What if those two want a big wedding? Neither one of us has time to plan that.”

Jeff smiled at her. “Then we find people to help. Did you pick out enough ribbon?”

“This, this and this.” She piled the rolls into their woven basket, then glanced around, satisfied. “We did well.”

Jeff sent her mouth a teasing glance. “Very well.”

Her blush deepened his smile. He grabbed his scarecrow and hers, then headed toward the huge apple display. “Except for apples.”

“Apples on the porch?” She frowned and shook her head. “They'll go bad.”

“Apples to eat,” Jeff told her. He grabbed a half peck of Honeycrisps as they headed inside to pay for their truckful of autumn fun. “And an apple pie for dessert.”

“I love apple pie.”

Kim Breckenridge added a fresh-baked pie to the basket, then swept them a quick look of question. “Anything else?”

Hannah nudged Jeff. “Cider.”

“Great idea.”

“A half gallon or whole?”

Jeff eyed the whole gallon and shook his head. “Half. We don't want it to sour and we can always come back for more.”

“Which makes my entire family very happy,” Kim told him, grinning. She withdrew the cider from an adjacent cooler. “There we go. All set now?”

Jeff eyed the pickup truck and the various things they had on the counter and gulped as he handed over his debit card. “Yes. Please.”

He rearranged the truck bed to accommodate the vegetables and straw people while Hannah packed the front seat with food. She settled back into her seat as he shut the tail-gate, wondering when she'd last had this much fun.

Maybe never, she decided, smiling as Jeff shifted the peck of apples to make room. She leaned across the front seat and surprised him with a kiss, just a little kiss, a feathering of her mouth against his somewhat grizzled skin. He smiled his thanks, his expression saying more than should be possible with the short weeks they'd known each other. But Hannah read the look in his eyes, the warmth, the caring, the invitation to travel a new path. And for the first time in nearly five years, she felt strong enough to take the chance.

 

“Oh, Jeff, I love it!”

Since Hannah rarely got this excited about anything, Jeff
enjoyed hearing the uplift in her voice when they finished her porch in the lamplight that evening. He stood back, surveyed the effect, and nodded, pleased that she'd enjoyed the afternoon. “It looks good.”

“It looks great,” she corrected him. She crossed the porch, then indicated the house with a wave. “Do you want to order a pizza and watch the beginning of the Sunday night game here?”

Jeff digested the invitation. She'd gotten weirded out last week by his work and football. Sure, she'd apologized, but no way was he about to mess with a great afternoon by chancing a bad evening. “Pizza's good, but I've got an early morning and unless I'm really into the team, I don't do late games.”