Mended Hearts (6 page)

She contemplated his words, glanced away, grimaced, then nodded. “Within reason. But sometimes those choices are beyond our realm.”

“Only if we let them be.” He closed the space she'd created with her small step back. “God puts that road before us, broken or clear, and then we make the choice of how to maneuver the path. Hurdle the potholes. Climb the hills.”

“Some hilltops are inaccessible.”

He shook his head, decided he'd said enough and gave her shoulder one last gentle grasp. “With the right shoes and training, all hills are attainable. How about dinner Saturday night?”

“I just said—”

“I'm ignoring your lame protests in favor of my desire to get to know you better. And you owe me dinner.”

She straightened, shrugging his hand away, a half smile brightening her features. “I don't. I didn't call.”

“You walked out on our first dinner together, meaning you still owe me a date.”

“It wasn't a date so your reasoning is illogical.”

“Really?” He grasped his laptop bag and winked. “My game, my rules. I say it was and we need a do-over.”

“And if I disagree?”

“I'll pester you until you cave. You could—” he leaned her way as they headed for the door, smiling inwardly as she tried to hide the look of enjoyment his teasing inspired “—save us a whole lot of trouble and go out with me on Saturday. It's the weekend, we both have to eat, it's a perfect excuse to wind down before Sunday.” He waited as she locked the door, tested the handle, nodded satisfaction and turned smack into his chest. “And we could talk.” He dropped his gaze to her cheeks, her mouth, then raised his free hand to graze her chin ever so lightly. “Get to know each other.”

“But—”

“Please?”

The little-boy
please
did it. She caved, her eyes searching his, saying more than she wanted them to, he was quite sure of that. “Okay.”

He smiled, the whispered response exactly what he'd been hoping for. The fact that he had no idea why he needed to chase those shadows from her eyes wasn't lost on him.

Why was he drawn to a woman with issues?

Because she needed him. But didn't want to need him. And that raised the stakes.

Watching Hannah ease her aging car down the road, the memory of their banter fresh in his mind, he realized that a big part of her wasn't playing games, and that sobering thought meant he better make sure he was on solid ground himself. That was easier said than done.

He called in an order for sandwiches from the Beef Haus. By the time he pulled up to the curb, his growling stomach reminded him lunch had been a long time ago. A waitress smiled his way, grabbed a to-go sack and handed it to him. “Two beef on wecks with extra horseradish on the side and an order of fries, right?”

“Exactly,” Jeff told her. He pulled money from his wallet and handed it over. “Here you go, and keep the change. I was hoping I'd catch you guys before you closed up.”

“And you did.” She smiled at him, then shifted her attention to someone behind him. “You're all set, Matt?”

“Yes. Thank you. I left money on the table, Gail.”

She swept Jeff a quick look, then nodded, understanding. “I'll take care of it. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. Great food. Brought back a lot of memories. Good night.” He turned to acknowledge his half brother, his gaze steady. “Jeff.”

“Matt.”

Matt noted Jeff's bag with a glance. “Seems eating late is a family habit.”

Jeff didn't want to share any habits with Matt Cavanaugh, but seeing Matt here, unexpectedly, resurrected his mother's words from last week. Moving on sounded great in theory. In reality, with Matt standing toe-to-toe with him? Much harder.

Matt headed out the door. Jeff followed more slowly, giving Matt time to get to his truck and pull away, not wanting a confrontation this late at night. Maybe not wanting one at all. He climbed into his car, set the bag down and eyed the town.

This was home. His home. His place.

And his,
an inner voice scolded.

Was his,
Jeff corrected. And that was a long time ago. He gave up the right to call this home by breaking laws. Going to jail. Being a jerk.

A lot of kids are jerks,
his conscience persisted.
Luckily, most of them grow out of it.
Had Matt?

Jeff sighed. Christ had come to forgive man's sin by offering Himself in sacrifice. Embracing the cross. Out of grievous wrong had come great good, so why couldn't he look at Matt Cavanaugh without cringing?

Help me, Father. You've given me strength and focus, You delivered me from rough situations with my father, You
anointed me with intelligence to create amazing things. Why can't I do this little thing, to forgive my brother?

Cool silence answered his prayer. The chill of October pushed thermometers down. He stared into the quiet night, sighed again and put his car into gear, not nearly as hungry as he'd been ten minutes ago.

“J
eff, is that you?” Delight brightened Dana Brennan's features as Jeff walked into his mother's house midday Saturday. “I was just telling Meredith I needed to see you and here you are.”

He eyed the clock and sent her a not-so-pretend look of disbelief. “Since I said I was coming by, it's really not a big surprise, right?”

“You said you
needed
to stop by, not that you
would,
and I've been your mother long enough to know that work sometimes interferes.”

He couldn't argue with that. He grabbed a handful of homemade pizzelles and followed her into the kitchen. “Where's the brat?”

“Seriously, Jeff? I'm thirty-two. I stopped being a brat last year.” Meredith grinned at him from her spot at the island counter, a bowl of fresh green beans making her look way more domestic than she'd ever thought of being, but that was before she'd been dumped as the manager of an exclusive spa when the owner's daughter took over. Sometimes nepotism wasn't a good thing. In Meredith's case, it brought her home with little money in the bank, no furniture because she sold
it rather than move it, and great hair. Jeff matched her grin, then scrutinized the bowl. “You're helping Mom cook?”

“She's trimming the beans so we can grill them,” Dana explained. She settled a fond look on Meredith, obviously pleased to have her home. “I'm going to brush them with garlic oil and a dusting of salt and fresh-ground pepper. Wonderful stuff.”

“It sounds good,” he admitted, snatching a pair of beans to go along with the pizzelles. “I've never met a green bean I didn't like. So why are you playing kitchen domestic when you said you'd be hunting up possible sites for a beauty shop?”

“A salon, Jeffie, not a beauty shop. How fifties can you get?” She sent him a look of dismay, then shrugged. “I was examining possibilities with Mary Kay this morning, but we didn't find anything that fit my vision.”

“How about your pocketbook?”

She made a face. “Since it's empty, Grandma's start-up loan and a mortgage will be my launchpad. I knew times were fundamentally tight, but I didn't realize that funds for small-business loans had dried like the Sahara.”

“Grandma's okay with up-front money?”

Meredith trimmed the ends off the next pair of beans and eyed him, puzzled. “You work with her. She didn't tell you?”

Jeff shook his head. “We don't discuss personal stuff. If it doesn't involve Walker Electronics, I don't ask and she doesn't offer. We don't mix personal and business.”

“Seriously?” Meredith smiled at him and Jeff realized it was the first smile that had reached her eyes since she'd come home weeks before. “That's classy of you.”

He waved that off. “Just good sense, Mere. Why muddy water we've worked so hard to clear?”

Her smile faded and Jeff backtracked. “Wait, I didn't mean it that way, like your business would muck things up. It just seems smarter to keep things separate.”

His mother leaned in. “Stop talking. You're only making it worse.”

“I see that. Silence is my new middle name.”

“Ha.”

“So what brings you by?” Dana gave him a look as she chopped peppers with finesse. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“You know I'm doing the library fundraising for the Jamison branch?”

Dana nodded. “Of course. I'm planning on being a two-time Austen sponsor.”

“Say what?” Jeff exchanged puzzled looks with Meredith.

“You've established levels for donations, right?” Dana looked up, her expression saying her intent should be obvious.

“Yes. Lee, Twain, Alcott, Cooper, Austen, Fitzgerald.”

Dana nodded as if her reasoning made perfect sense. “I wouldn't read Fitzgerald if you paid me, but I love Austen, so I'm signing on to be an Austen contributor twice. Once in my name, and once in honor of you and your sister. That way it's the same money and none of the negativity. Have you ever read an Austen book?”

Jeff didn't fake his shudder. “Not on your life.”

“Read one and you'll understand.” She waved a knife at him that looked more like a meat cleaver than a veggie dicer.

“Why so much for Jamison?” Jeff settled into the chair opposite her while he munched a bean. “You didn't give that much to the Wellsville branch.”

“Two reasons.” Eyes down, she chopped until a small mountain of green pepper stood ready to layer over a bowl of slightly warm Yukon gold potatoes. “Wellsville had plenty of donors because it draws from a bigger population and I knew they'd do fine once the idea took hold.”

She was right. The Wellsville library was now refurbished, its terraced patio seating a work of art.

“Secondly, most of my friends are from Jamison. And your
dad and I were married there. I've got a lot of old memories in that little town.”

Jeff knew they'd been married there. He'd assumed it was because his mother had been in the family way and they wanted to keep it quiet so they'd opted away from the beautiful cathedral-like church in Wellsville. He'd always wondered what would have happened if she hadn't gotten pregnant. It wasn't like he felt responsible for the whole mess, but if he hadn't been conceived, what would her life have been like? Would she have married his dad anyway, following a road of broken dreams and empty promises?

Knowing his mother's gentle heart, he recognized the likelihood; her hopeful nature was optimistic to a fault. And while Jeff had no memories of his father's early engineering brilliance, some of Neal's initial concepts had been the starting ground for later projects, so there was no faulting his mind. His weakness for drugs, gambling and women? A whole different scenario.

“We're planning a Harvest Dinner to wrap up October at the Farmer's Fair and I was hoping you would chair the food end of it. Nobody puts together a fundraising dinner to rival you, Mom.”

Dana smiled with delight. “I'd be glad to. And if it's successful, maybe your committee could stagger a few more throughout the year. Something like that in January or February makes a great transition into spring.”

Just the idea and enthusiasm Jeff was hoping for. He grinned and looped an arm around her. “I'll talk to the committee. Thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome.” She liberally ground fresh pepper until dark specks dotted the vegetables below, the enticing smell jump-starting Jeff's appetite.

“I plan on helping with the later part of your campaign.” Meredith interrupted his thoughts as she stood, rolled her shoulders, frowned at the high, barlike stool and settled her
green beans into the sink for a quick rinse. “You've got stuff going on over the winter, right? And at the Maple Festival?”

“Yes.”

“Well, count me in on that. I know I can't handle a lot right now with trying to find, develop and establish my—” she wagged two fingers of both hands in quotation marks “—beauty shop.”

Jeff grinned. So did Dana.

“But once I've got things under way I can give you time. Donate services. Whatever you need as long as it isn't cold, hard cash. I'm leaving that one to you, Grandma and Mom.”

Dana nodded. “We'll cover cash donations from the family. You donate great hair and nails. And massages. People love them these days.”

Jeff wouldn't argue that point. A great massage after a strenuous workout?

Stellar.

He took his sister's cue, stood and bent to kiss his mother's cheek. “You smell like potato salad.”

She grinned. “Story of my life. Let me know dates and times, menus, et cetera. I can come up with my own or follow the committee's direction. Either way works for me.”

“Will do.”

Jeff turned toward his sister. “Mere, love you. Let me know when you narrow sites down. I'll come and look them over for you if you want.”

“I'd love it,” she admitted. She blew him a kiss from wet hands. “And I'm getting together with a bunch of the gals tonight, so I'll most likely have any and all current info on you by morning.”

He grinned and sent her a mock salute. “Lotsa luck. Nothing to tell.”

She matched his smile with her own. “That's what they all say, honey.”

 

Hannah eyed the clock, set down her brush of pink-toned white chocolate and took off her apron. “Meg, I've got to get this stuff to the post office before two. Are you okay here?”

“Fine. And make sure you leave time to get ready for your date tonight. And let me just add, it's high time you started dating. I don't think you've had a date in the three years you've been in town.”

Meg was right, and hearing it said out loud made her sound pretty lame. Still… “You don't think it's risky for me to date Jeff?”

“I think it borders on ridiculous for two thirtysomethings to
not
explore the possibilities. Seriously, Hannah, do I have to spell this out for you? Ticktock, ticktock?”

Hannah couldn't resist. “So, speaking of biological clocks…”

Megan's grin said it all.

“Dork, why haven't you said anything??” Hannah rounded the counter and hugged Meg. “Why the big secret?”

Megan shrugged, but still looked delighted. “We agreed to wait until we got to three months along because my mother miscarried twice. We just wanted to be as sure as we could be that things were okay.”

Totally understandable. Hannah looked at the wall calendar. “And?”

“Three months tomorrow.”

“Yee-haw!” Hannah spun her around, gave her another hug, then headed back to the kitchen, laughing. “I knew it, of course, but I'm glad you finally owned up.”

“Oh, I figured you did.” Megan nodded ruefully. “Something about morning sickness and pasty white skin says so much.”

“Yup. So. End of March?”

“Thereabouts. And Danny's family is over-the-top excited. My parents are dancing in the streets and Grandma Mary…”
Megan grinned, her face a telltale sign of her great-grandma's approval. “She's hoping for a girl, named for her, of course.”

“Mary.” Hannah smiled. The sound of the soft, Biblical name was a whisper on the wind, hinting new life, new beginnings and established roots. Wonderful things. “I love it.”

“Me, too. Danny was a little goofy about it, thinking the name was kind of forced on me, but I love tradition and family heirlooms. And what's a better gift for a newborn child than a timeless name?”

“I agree.” Hannah headed for the door. “I'll be back in a few minutes. Anything you want? Need?”

Megan shook her head, her look of satisfaction born from within. “Nope. I'm good.”

Pure delight pushed Hannah's steps. Just shy of the post office, a voice called her name. She turned and spotted a certain science teacher. “Miss Dinsmore, hello.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” She smiled and put a hand out. “Nice to see you.”

“And you.” Miss Dinsmore half smiled, half frowned at Hannah's left cheek. “Been working with pink frosting today?”

“Oh, no. Seriously?” Hannah scrubbed her hand over her cheek and sighed. “Wouldn't you think I'd know enough to check my face in the mirror?”

“Well, it's fine now,” Miss Dinsmore assured her, falling into step alongside. “And my car is parked around the corner, so I'll walk with you, if you don't mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Lovely day. A nice hint of cool and crisp, tinged with warmth, the sun still high enough to toast the air.”

“For a few weeks yet.”

“Yes.” Miss Dinsmore breathed deep, her gaze trained on the kaleidoscopic hills that backdropped Wellsville. “I love fall.”

Hannah was just about to agree, the words on the edge of her tongue, but then she realized it was an old feeling, now abandoned.

She
had
loved fall. And she never minded winter. As an athlete she'd embraced cooler days for multiple reasons, but fall's show of color, the chilled starlit nights, the wanton winds of change, tempestuous storms pummeling trees and homes… She'd loved it all.

“Fall's hard for you, I expect.”

Hannah's suspicions were confirmed. Miss Dinsmore knew who she was. “How did you know?”

“Two ways. I was on the hiring committee for the library and your background check offered your history at Ironwood.”

Hannah knew it would, but no one had said a word. Not to her at least. “And the second way?”

“I kept a scrapbook with my class back then of what you and your class accomplished. Your classroom projects on the effect of mood-altering meds on the human psyche were wonderful.”

But not wonderful enough,
Hannah thought, a wellspring of emotion surging upward.

“And the fact that so many of your students came to an understanding of the cooperative inner workings of the human brain and of nature versus nurture were just wonderful. Were they all honors students?”

“No.” Hannah took a breath and paused, seeing the sights and sounds of Wellsville while her brain wrapped itself around memories of Ironwood High. “Most of them were regular students, although a lot of them were overachievers in things that may or may not have been school oriented.”

“I've had my share of those.” Miss Dinsmore nodded, agreeable. “We always called them late bloomers, and it's not a bad analogy in retrospect. Sometimes we tend to over
analyze what history has taught us are simple aberrations of the norm.”

“Which is exactly what our study showed.” Hannah sent her a look. “But then we learned the hard way that nothing is really simple.”

“And that no one teacher, one school, one community has all the answers,” Miss Dinsmore replied, matter-of-fact. “I trained myself to recognize that when I get a student at age fourteen, I have four limited years of influence on his or her life. The family has had fourteen years to mess the kid up or strengthen him.” She stepped closer, stopped Hannah's progress with a firm hand and looked deep into her eyes. “In other words, it's not our fault. Rainbows occur because of a finite grouping of events dependent on time of day, angle of light, prismatic function and saturation. If it takes all those accidents of time to make such a natural occurrence, how much more must it take to twist a child's thinking into total lack of conscience?”