Restless Heart (17 page)

“Destiny, I was having a
moment
. You know how squeamish I am,” she snapped, then turned back to Max and said, in a delicate voice, “Okay, I can stand.”

“You sure?”

“I think so.”

Destiny cleared her throat in an effort not to chuckle, and her sister shot her a don’t-you-dare look.

Maybe, Destiny realized, she was finally ready to give up her weakness for bad boys. Max was a really good guy, and so was Seth . . .

She turned to see him watching Grace with a hint of amusement before he caught her eye and shook his head, grinning.

 

 

 

F
or most of his life, every time John Hart came home, he felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.

These days, though, it was just the opposite, he noted grimly, as he pulled into the empty driveway and looked up at the house.

It was modest by modern standards, but neat as a pin with a lush front lawn that he meticulously mowed and manicured. The hedges were trimmed, the trees pruned, and a dandelion had better not dare raise its yellow head. Sara’s flowerbeds overflowed with colorful fall flowers.

After years of moving, he loved having his own home—and now, ironically, all Sara talked about was traveling. They had spent a lifetime being uprooted and he’d be damned if he’d start traipsing all over creation. He liked his quiet little existence, and for the life of him he couldn’t understand what had suddenly put a burr up Sara’s butt, just as he couldn’t comprehend why his bright and gifted daughter would choose to wait tables in Nashville.

What were they thinking?

They weren’t thinking. That was the problem. They were simply letting their whims guide them, all of them, even Grace, without a care for the future—or, for that matter, for the past.

John walked up to the door, checked the mailbox, and removed several envelopes. Sara must have left the house before noon, as that was when the mailman made his rounds.

He stepped into the front hall and called, “Anyone home?” He knew the house was empty, but it made him feel better, for some reason, to pretend that he didn’t.

“Hello?” he called, as if someone might be waiting here for him, just like the old days.

Whenever he came back from a tour of duty, his wife and daughters would hang a Welcome Home banner and greet him with kisses and excited chatter.

Now there was only an empty house.

But you’re only coming back from a fishing trip,
he reminded himself.
And the girls are gone, living their own lives in Nashville, and Sara . . .

She was here, but not really; it was just the two of them left rattling around in their dream house, sad strangers with nothing left to say to each other.

Wondering where she was, he went into the kitchen to see if she’d left a note in the usual place: on the countertop in front of the toaster.

No note.

But then, she wouldn’t have known he was coming home this afternoon. He never told her when he was coming and going, because he didn’t know himself. He took off for the cabin as the spirit moved him, and he came home when he could no longer stand being away.

The house was too quiet.

Even though he had complained about Grace moving back home last spring, John desperately missed Grace’s laughter, her constant chatter, and even the music blasting from the bathroom while she showered.

He dearly missed Destiny too. It had been four long years of barely seeing his daring daughter who was always so full of life and laughter.

When Destiny had hightailed it off to Nashville, he had been livid and let her know in no uncertain terms that he would have absolutely no part of her foolishness.

Maybe it scared him, seeing so much of himself in her. Having grown up feeling abandoned and unloved, he had spent his youth pulling stunts and taking chances.

Later, he learned to live life conservatively, serving his country and providing for his family. He had made darned sure his girls could go to college so they could have a secure future.

When Destiny ignored his wishes and left home, she took a piece of him with her—although he’d never let her know it.

God help him, he missed her. He missed them all. He only wanted the best for his children and his wife. How could that possibly be wrong?

John pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to see if he’d somehow missed a call from Sara.

He hadn’t.

With a scowl, he flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the countertop. It skittered across the shiny surface and he lunged forward to catch it just as it went sliding over the edge. He carefully placed the phone next to the shiny silver toaster.

Ever since he’d gotten past his youthful indiscretions, he’d taken pride in exercising self-control, but today he was about to lose it. He closed his eyes and swallowed—a lonely man in an empty house, with nothing left but his own pride.

That was the one thing he’d had before all this, and the one thing he’d never let go.

Not like he had everything else.

 

 

 

S
eth glanced at his watch as he and Destiny settled on her couch back at the apartment, with Mike curling up at the opposite end.

Time was running out. He had a long drive ahead of him, and a stack of papers to grade tonight, and he’d promised to help Chase with his college essay, and . . .

So what else was new?

“How do you feel about everything?” he asked her. “Is it sinking in yet?”

“I can’t even tell. All that celebrating made me tired.” She leaned her head back against his arm with a yawn.

“Why don’t you take a nap? I should get going anyway.”

He started to get up, but she put a hand on his arm. “No, don’t. You can stay for a while longer, can’t you? Having you here is kind of keeping me from freaking out about this whole thing,” she admitted in a soft voice that went straight to his heart.

“Sure. I can stay awhile.” He kissed the top of her head, then nudged Mike out of the way to give them both room to lie down. The sofa was so roomy they’d have fit without being too snug, but he pulled her closer against him anyway, breathing the herbal scent of her hair.

“You know,” she murmured, “when Miranda called this morning, all I could think was that something had gone wrong.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because everything’s been going right.
Too
right. My career, and having Grace here, and being with you . . .”

“There’s no law that says you can’t have it all, Destiny.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Sure, I’m sure. You’re going to be a star, Destiny—like you always wanted. Just don’t ever forget what matters most.”

“What?”

“The simple things that were there all along—the things that would be there even if your career went away tomorrow. Your family, your friends . . .”

“You.”

“Yeah. Me.”

“Seth, I could promise you that no matter what I’ll stay humble and grounded and God help me, I’ll try. Believe me when I say that it’s important to me that I do. But since you brought it up . . .” She lifted her head to look at him, and her serious expression caught him off guard. “I want you to promise that if I do make it big and start acting like a diva you’ll keep me grounded.”

“You got it,” Seth promised.

“Good. You know, everybody thinks my goal is to become rich and famous. Don’t get me wrong . . . that would be just fine and dandy, but it’s not my real reason for being here.”

“What is your real reason, then?” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it tenderly.

“From the time I was a little girl, music would play in my brain. At first it was songs that I knew and loved and then I started to have my own melodies spring to life.” She tapped her temple and laughed. “It was like having an internal iPod always on shuffle. Eventually I started writing down the words and music in a journal.”

“And let me guess . . . nobody knew.”

“Of course not. I was afraid of being laughed at.”

“So what are you afraid of now?”

The question seemed to take her by surprise, but she didn’t hesitate to answer. “Failure,” she said flatly.

“That’s not going to happen. Not now.”

“It might. Anything could go wrong. Even now.”

“Then don’t give up. Give it all you’ve got and sing your doggone heart out, and you’ll make it.”

“Ha—if only it were that easy.”

“No one said it would be easy,” he reminded her gently and then tucked a curl behind her ear. “Look, if you’re ready to come home then I’ll help you pack your bags.”

“Come home?” she echoed in horror, shaking her head vehemently. “
Now
? No way!”

“There’s my girl.” Seth forced a smile despite the odd sense of panic that welled up in his throat.

She yawned. “Sorry I keep doing that. I guess champagne in the afternoon makes me useless for the rest of the day.” She laid her head against his chest again.

He stroked her hair and listened to the soft sound of her breathing, wondering just what life had in store for them.

At least she assumed he was going to be around in the future. But in what capacity? Friend? Boyfriend? More?

Did she ever think about getting married?

Remembering her reaction back at the bar when Grace had assumed they were engaged, he felt his earlier optimism evaporating.

She hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled by the prospect. More like . . . horrified.

What did that mean?

Are you kidding? Nothing good, that’s for sure
.

But she’d just asked him to keep her grounded when she made it big, so . . .

Maybe he should just come right out and ask her where she thought they were headed; whether there was a chance she might actually want to settle down someday, somewhere . . . with him.

“Destiny?”

No reply.

“Destiny?” he repeated, wondering if she somehow sensed what he was going to ask her and was trying desperately to avoid the question . . .

Not
the
question, of course.

He wasn’t going to propose. He just wanted to know whether she’d ever considered that someday, he actually might . . . and that she might want to say yes.

About to say her name again, he heard her breathing, slow and steady, and realized she’d fallen asleep.

It was just as well, Seth decided. The last thing he wanted to do right now—or ever—was force her to make a choice.

Because he knew what it would be.

“H
ere, taste . . .” Destiny lifted a forkful of stuffing to Seth’s lips as he came up behind her at the kitchen counter. “What do you think?”

“Mmmmmm.” He wrapped his arms around her and turned her around.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I have to finish making this—”

“I’d say it’s delicious as it is. And so are you.” He nuzzled her neck.

“And I have to get the pie into the oven . . . and you said yourself that your oven’s slow.”

“Yeah . . . that’ll give us some extra time.”

“We’re supposed to be over at my parents’ house in an hour.”

“They won’t care if we’re a little late.”

“Are you kidding? You know my father.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a more relaxed mood. It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Trust me—I don’t think dried-out turkey will relax him. Here, do you want to crack some more pecans for the pie while I roll out the crust?”

“Sure,” Seth told her. “As long as I have you next to me, I’d do anything.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“No, I’m not just flirting.” He pulled her close. “I’m dead serious.”

He lowered his head and kissed her long and sweet until her head was spinning.

“The pie,” she said weakly when he pulled back at last.

“Let ’em eat cake.”

Destiny laughed and swatted his arm. “Now I’m dead serious. Get cracking.” She pointed to the bowl of pecans on the table.

Grumbling good-naturedly, he sat down and picked up the nut-cracker as she covered the tray of stuffing with tinfoil, then reached for the rolling pin.

Seth’s galley kitchen was surprisingly well equipped for a bachelor pad—much better equipped than her own back in Nashville. These days, with Grace sharing the small space and her own life more hectic than ever, the place was so cluttered that she couldn’t find tinfoil or a rolling pin even if she knew she owned it. Which she didn’t.

“We really should clean up before we hit the road,” she’d told Grace late last night, as they threw their belongings into suitcases to make the long drive back to Wilmot for Thanksgiving.