Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (23 page)

Bertie stood in the same spot, staring at the empty doorway until she heard her front door close. She waited, hoping and praying that he’d turn around and race back up the stairs and haul her into his arms, showering her face with kisses and declaring his love for her. In the distance, the start of his car engine and the faint sound of tires backing out of her gravel driveway reached her ears. Bertie fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands.

***

“Fuck!” Keith hit the gas pedal and floored it down the two-lane country road. His mind calculated how long it would take if he kept driving until he entered Miami-Dade county. He needed to get the hell out of this town before it sucked the very life from his soul. He couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. He should never have agreed to move here and set up house, to try and make a life for himself and Maddie. He knew from day one that everyone in this town was insane. And now, they’d made him crazy too.

Keith pulled his Cayenne into an empty parking lot of an abandoned Shell station with broken windows and rusted gas pumps from the 1950s. He killed the engine and dropped his forehead on the steering wheel. God, he hated himself. What the fuck had he done? He’d just had the best sex of his life with a beautiful woman who he hadn’t been able to exorcise from his brain from the minute he caught her tottering on a ladder in ridiculous high heels. Bertie had played a major role in every one of his fantasies from the minute he met her until today. And after all these months, he finally got where he’d been dying to be and he never wanted to leave. That scared him most of all. Keith’s head almost exploded the minute he pushed inside her. Bertie was hot and sexy and curved in all the right places. She was sensual and responsive, and Keith got hard again just thinking about it.

This was what got Keith in trouble in the first place. He had to move past the sex. He didn’t need someone like Bertie in his life, who stirred up feelings he couldn’t control. He didn’t need her big personality and all the drama attached to it. He’d been down that road before and knew how twisted and winding it became, with hairpin turns and bumps and cracks and potholes. He’d get lost again and never find his way back. He didn’t want twisted anymore. He wanted straight and narrow and smooth with no hills and no turns. If he tangled himself up with Bertie, he’d never find his way out. He didn’t need someone who hid in closets or climbed ladders in stilettoes, or someone who drew everyone’s attention as she barreled through life on skates. He didn’t want someone who was surrounded by drama. He’d had it once, and it had been a disaster.

If he allowed himself to fall for Bertie, it would only be a matter of time before he felt like he was drowning. And she’d eventually get restless, wondering about the lost opportunities his instant family had forced her to miss. He’d be helpless and she’d be resentful. Then the arguments would escalate and the whole bitching episode would start all over again. Like his first marriage.

Keith stepped out of his car and walked to the edge of the field behind the station and looked out. A few cows grazed lazily. A circle of insects swirled in front of him and the hot sun cast a golden haze over the field. He smelled dark, damp dirt and fresh-cut grass along with something sweet. His nostrils flared. Keith knew that smell. He had breathed it in all night long, like a magic potion that made all his troubles disappear. He’d fallen asleep wearing a smile, breathing that same smell. Keith turned and spied the source. The back of the dilapidated station, with its peeling paint and blackened windows, served as the perfect backdrop to the largest blooming gardenia bush he’d ever seen. The bush crawled up the cruddy walls of the building with a plethora of blooms, all in different stages of life. Keith reached out and plucked a fresh, white flower, rubbing the velvet-like petals between his fingers. He inhaled the fragrant gardenia scent and pictured Bertie all flushed with her mahogany hair spread across her white pillowcase, a smile curving her kiss-swollen lips and her green eyes glowing with pleasure. Pleasure he put there. But more than that. They glowed with all the love she had for him. The love she’d poured over him with every kiss and touch and giving of herself.

Keith closed his eyes and crushed the flower with his fist. That was how he wanted to remember Bertie. With love in her eyes. He didn’t want to wake up one day and see the accusations and the blame and the indifference that he knew would come when she realized that he’d stolen all her dreams and aspirations. And he never wanted to witness that look in her eyes when she realized that he wasn’t good enough for her.

***

Bertie met with Gary first thing on Monday morning in her office to review the last few weeks of work on Keith’s house. She’d managed to wash her face and throw on an old pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt before he arrived at her house.

“Lord almighty! What the hell happened to you?” Gary asked as soon she opened the door.

Bertie ducked her head, wishing she’d applied makeup to hide her blotchy face from twenty-four hours of streaming tears. “Nothing. I might be coming down with something.”
Like
a
broken
heart
from
a
clueless
jerk
who
wouldn’t know a good thing if it knocked him in the head with a bolt of fabric
.

“Like what? The bubonic plague? You look like shit. You better not be contagious.”

“Could be a cold. Don’t get too close,” Bertie lied and hoped Gary wouldn’t catch on. “Grab some coffee and meet me in the office.”

Gary didn’t move. He examined Bertie like he could see inside her brain. Finally he brushed past her toward the kitchen, mumbling under his breath, “Cold my ass.”

Bertie padded her way to her office in fuzzy socks. She could do this. Gary could handle the remaining orders for Keith’s house, and she’d man headquarters in her office where no one would see her. If she stayed hidden, there’d be fewer chances of running into anyone, especially a tall, dark, dangerous, and completely deranged ex-professional tennis player. Bertie needed time and space to heal, forget, and move on. And she couldn’t do that when tears threatened to spill every five seconds—especially if she had to deal with Mr. Perfectly Tortured and Confused.

Gary strolled in, placed his mug of coffee on the worktable, threw himself in the one chair clear of samples, and said, “Spill it.”

“What?”

“You know what. Don’t play dumb with me, girlfriend. What happened between you and the studly Prince?”

Bertie swiped a betraying tear from her cheek. “Nothing. He came by and dropped off the papers. We have three weeks to finish and I’m not giving up.”

There was a long pause before Gary spoke. “Please tell me that at least the sex was good before he broke your heart.”

Bertie raised watery eyes to him. “What are you, psychic?”

“When it comes to you, yes.”

“Then why didn’t you warn me that he’d break my heart?” Bertie gulped back a sob.

“Aw, Bertie.” Gary gathered her in his arms and hugged her. “Do I need to get Cal to beat him up?

“N-no,” she sniffled in his crisp white sleeve.

“You sit right here.” He settled Bertie in the chair he’d vacated. “I’m going to fix you some nice hot tea and then you’re going to tell old Gary all about it.”

***

The following week Bertie and Gary worked as if their lives hung in the balance. Gary continued to be the front person on Keith’s job and protected Bertie from ever having to run into him. And Bertie burned the candle at both ends by bringing meals to Mr. Carmichael, decorating for the Downtown Get Down, and running supplies to Dwelling Place, along with a check she’d written for another ten-thousand-dollar installment. Bertie had been borrowing from her savings since she hadn’t collected her bonus, but she felt confident that she had nothing to worry about.

Keith only entered her mind every ten seconds or so. And she kept slices of very cold cucumbers in her fridge for her swollen eyes. And as the days passed, she tamped down any hope from creeping back into her heart. He’d stated his plan, and it didn’t include her. But a part of Bertie…an itty-bitty part still felt that he’d wake up one morning and realize what a complete fool he’d been and beg her to keep his heart…forever. Okay, so she had an overactive fantasy life, but it could happen. Right? Because so far, there’d been no wedding and no announcement of a wedding. And in a town this size, news like that would’ve traveled faster than a hungry kid to a candy store.

The one person who had the answers to Bertie’s questions would’ve been Aunt Franny. But Bertie refused to ask her. How could Aunt Franny have known about Keith’s fiancée and not told her? She’d obviously mentioned it to her sister in Italy. Bertie’s ears still burned over that embarrassing conversation. Aunt Franny’s silence hurt Bertie beyond description.

At the end of the week, all of Harmony had geared up for the festival, and even though Bertie knew Keith would be there with Maddie, there’d be plenty of activities to keep her busy and enough people to hide behind if the need arose.

By ten o’clock on Saturday morning, the high school band was playing, the Carolina Cloggers had taken the stage, the face painters and magicians were entertaining the kids, and the food vendors had cranked their generators on full blast as the combined smells of barbecue, burgers, hot dogs, chicken, and roasting corn permeated the air.

Bertie volunteered for the morning shift and helped man the booth for Dwelling Place as she and Jo Ellen Huggins sold home-baked goods to raise money. Bertie pulled her hair back from her face in a ponytail and wore a green apron with a Dwelling Place logo over a short jean skirt, aqua-blue knit T, and her favorite pink flip-flops with tiny bejeweled peace signs.

The sun beat down. Bertie stood in the only corner of the booth that provided a sliver of shade, with cool lemonade in one hand and program fanning her face in another. “Geez, it’s hot.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jo Ellen said, leaning on her palms over the table that held cakes, brownies, and doughnuts, twitching to the strings of the banjoes. “I think we could fry an egg right here on the sidewalk and it isn’t even July yet.” Jo Ellen stood, untied her apron, and adjusted the pink knit skirt that crept indecently up her thighs. “I’m gonna walk around. You okay without me?”

“Sure. Have fun.”

Jo Ellen smiled. “I intend to. Maybe there’s someone here today who needs a makeover or who’d like to dance.” Jo Ellen shimmied and her pink sequined top shimmied with her.

“Preferably not the same person,” Bertie added.

“Right. But at this point, I’d take about anyone.” She gave Bertie a curious look. “Haven’t seen much of the Prince lately, have you?”

Bertie gulped and increased the speed of the program fanning her face. “Uh, no. Not really. Gary spends more time over—”

“Rumor has it that he’s found someone, and she’s not from Harmony,” Jo Ellen said as she looked down and adjusted the silver belt around her waist. Bertie stopped all movement as a deep chill ran through her veins. “Oh well, you win some, you lose some. Right?” Jo Ellen didn’t wait for a response as she squeezed her way out of the booth and sauntered toward the dance floor set up in the middle of the food tent.

Bertie wished she could maneuver out of the booth and away from the festival for good, but someone had stopped to check out the sweets. “Can I help you? We’ve got some great goodies here. All homemade.”

“My mouth’s watering just looking at them. Did you bake all these?”

Bertie laughed. “Hardly. I only made the coconut cupcakes. I’m not big on baking.”

“Oh, I
love
to bake. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

Bertie gave her a smile. “Well, I can recommend everything here. I’ve tasted them all, as my hips will attest, and they’re all delicious.”

“Hmmm. I think I’ll try these red velvet cupcakes and maybe that lemon Bundt cake. This will save me from having to make dessert for my boyfriend tonight.”

“Have you been exercising?” Bertie asked, noting she wore exercise clothes instead of the usual festival ware: cowboy boots, short shorts, and tight T-shirts with logos.

“No,” the girl giggled.

Bertie placed the cupcakes in a tote with Dwelling Place stamped on the front. “I only asked because I like your powder-blue outfit. It matches your eyes.”

The girl ran her hand down the front of her short Nike skirt. “Thanks. I’m playing tennis later with my boyfriend and his daughter. Maybe you’ve heard of him…”

Bertie’s mind screamed, “Don’t say it, don’t say it!” as her hand faltered with the Bundt cake, almost dropping it on the ground.

“Keith Morgan. He lives here now. Used to be a professional tennis player.”

She said it.

Bertie’s body froze, but her mind raced as she took in the young girl’s straight, blond hair tied back in a sleek, clean ponytail, not one that hung lopsided because of the weight of her heavy hair. A slim figure with long, athletic legs. Not pudgy hips and short legs that needed four-inch heels to look in proportion. A porcelain complexion. Not one freckle or blemish. Rosy cheeks and lips and the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Not green eyes that conjured up images of murky pond water. This…this was who Keith wanted. A young, blond, blue-eyed, athletic, innocent-looking girl who loved to bake. No kidding. Anyone would want that.

“Do you know him?” the pretty blond asked, blinking at Bertie’s stunned face.

“Uh, yeah, sort of. I’m helping with the design of his house,” she managed to say around her swollen tongue.

“That’s you?” she said, sounding enthusiastic as she handed Bertie her money. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s gorgeous. I have no talent when it comes to decorating. My only talent lies in the kitchen.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

Bertie tamped down the bile that threatened to overtake her throat. “Th-thanks. So, you’ve been by the house?” She turned her back to little Miss Perfect and pressed her hand to her chest, searching for the cash box.