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“WELL, IF IT ISN’T ANNIE McAllister! How’re you doing, sugar? It’s been a while since I last saw your pretty face. What brings you to town?”
Annie dropped her luggage on the cracked linoleum floor of the King’s Valley bus depot and cast a weary smile at the older woman standing behind the ticket counter.
Maud Vickery hadn’t changed a smidgen in the five years since Annie had last been in this building. Sixty-something with a permed bob of blond hair that refused to budge, the woman had worked at the depot longer than just about anyone could remember. With a voice like she chewed cigarettes, she showered endearments upon friends and strangers alike while bringing them up to speed on everything important or unusual that had happened, was happening, or possibly was about to happen in the small northern California town. Judging from her bamboozled expression, she obviously hadn’t known that Annie would be coming home today.
Well, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know, Annie thought, rubbing the back of her neck in a useless effort to release a familiar knot of tension. “I’m here for my cousin’s wedding. How are things with you, Maud?”
“I’m getting by all right,” came the chipper reply. “Would you like a cup of coffee, hon? Just made some.”
“Thanks. Let me make a quick phone call first.”
Mindful of the other people in the room, Annie walked over to an empty corner, retrieved her cell phone from her purse and pressed a familiar contact number. While she waited for the call to be answered, her eyes traveled around the room. Nothing had changed. Not the bank of bolted down orange plastic chairs facing the grilled window looking out onto Main Street, or the old pinball machine beside the drinking fountain, or the lopsided rack of timetables and brochures near the entrance. Even the travel posters taped to the cement block wall behind the ticket counter hadn’t changed. Now yellowed with age, they still depicted shiny, happy people frolicking on white sandy beaches or strolling hand in hand through pristine amusement parks.
No one could possibly be that happy, she thought, tugging her gaze away when someone finally answered the phone. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling suddenly weepy at the sound of a familiar voice. “Ethan? Hi. It’s me. Annie.”
“As if I wouldn’t recognize my little sister’s voice,” came the reply that was a strange mix of brotherly teasing and curtness. “Gram said you’d be calling with your flight number. Hang on, let me grab a pen.”
“I’m here already.”
“Here? Where?”
“At the depot. I caught a five-thirty flight out of La Guardia this morning and took the airporter bus here. Can you or Grandma come and pick me up?”
“You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Well, why didn’t you call from the bus? I could’ve had someone waiting at the depot for you.”
“I fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep on the plane.” Her voice cracked a little. “I’m so tired, Ethan.”
He sighed. “Gram’s at the salon with Gracie and Jessica. They’re getting their nails done. And I’m helping Matt set up the dance floor. Can you sit tight for about forty-five minutes? Wait. Hold on a sec.” She heard him speaking to someone, their voices muffled. Then he came back on the line. “Never mind. Someone’ll be over to pick you up soon. It should be about ten minutes. See you in a bit.”
“Who?”
But her brother had already hung up.
She should’ve realized that everyone would be busy preparing for the wedding. She could’ve called for a taxi. Too late now.
Exhaustion hit her like a pillow full of bricks. She never could sleep on airplanes, and she hadn’t slept at all the night before. The nights before that hadn’t been exactly restful either. The past month, the past several months, really, were just a blur. She walked in a kind of daze towards the ticket counter.
“Cream or sugar, hon?” Maud had made space on the crowded countertop for two ceramic mugs of coffee.
“Black. Thanks.” Annie took a hesitant sip. The coffeemaker looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years, but the coffee tasted surprisingly good. She blinked her eyes, forcing them to stay open.
“So, I heard your cousin is marrying Matt Lancaster,” Maud said chattily. “This Saturday, right? I saw the announcement in the Courier. Are you in the wedding party?”
Annie grimaced. “I’m the maid of honor.”
She still couldn’t understand why Gracie had asked her. They weren’t as close as they once had been. The last time they’d seen each other had been at Ethan’s wedding last October. Annie didn’t recall talking with her cousin that day, a day that was still a sad, surreal fog in her memory.
“What are you wearing?” Maud wanted to know.
Annie didn’t mind the nosy questions. The conversation was keeping her awake. “Gracie selected it. She sent me a photo. It’s wearable. A peachy color. Tea length. Sleeveless. I’ve seen worse bridesmaid dresses. This one isn’t too bad.”
Maud tittered. “Sugar, let me tell you about this gawd-awful hat I had to wear at my sister Lulu’s wedding when I was fourteen. She wanted us to look like southern belles. All of us bridesmaids had to turn sideways to squeeze through the church door—”
A harried-looking man approached the counter. “Excuse me. When’s the next bus for San Francisco due in?” he inquired loudly.
“Same time as always, honey. Two o’clock sharp.”
Maud’s telephone rang, and she scurried to answer it. A young woman in a blue dress breezed through the entrance, tugging a rambunctious little boy behind her. They sat down in front of the window. The boy kicked his sneakered feet against the metal chair leg, and the woman whispered a scolding.
With a nod of thanks to Maud, Annie pushed her empty coffee cup across the counter and then sat down a couple of chairs away from the boy. If she were a child, she’d be kicking her feet too. As a grownup, about the only thing she could do was clench her hands tightly together. Her palms were damp.
She couldn’t blame the coffee for the fresh anxiety that tautened her nerves as tightly as a piano wire. She closed her eyes, but images she didn’t want to see flickered behind her eyelids like one of those old silent movie reels. Quickly opening her eyes, she focused on her luggage sitting a few feet away. It was the same luggage she’d taken on her departure five years ago: a large roller bag, her soft-sided art portfolio, and a small, black leather carry-on. The contents of her luggage had been starkly different back then. Tucked in amongst her clothing and necessities had been ambitious dreams, youthful energy and fearlessness. All of that was gone now, replaced by disillusionment and shredded pride and a heart that was cut in two.
The woman in the blue dress stood up from her seat. “Stay right there, Jackson,” she told the boy. “I need to get some coffee.”
The boy nodded obediently. As soon as the woman had her back turned, he slid off his chair and ambled over to Annie, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. He clutched a box of crayons in one hand. He paused in front of her to show the box to her, his small face solemn.
“Do you want me to open that for you?” Annie asked, glad to have a distraction. A sense of impending doom was weighing her down like a massive boulder.
The boy jerked his chin up and down. Annie slid a black-polished fingernail under the lid and opened the box. The crayons were new, the tips clean and pointed. She vividly recollected the first time she’d seen these colors. She’d memorized the names long before she’d learned how to read: Canary Yellow, Burnt Sienna, Aquamarine, Sky Blue, Magenta. She’d delighted in the way the words had rolled across her tongue.
She gave the boy an inquiring look. “Do you have something to color on?”
He scampered back to his chair, nearly tripping in his haste, then came racing back with a cartoon coloring book. He spread it open across her lap and sifted through the pages until he found a picture that interested him. It was a big tractor. He pulled a purple crayon from the box and started to color.
“Jackson!” The woman hurried towards them. “I told you to stay in your seat. You’re bothering the nice lady.”
Annie glanced up at her. “I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
Annie nodded. The woman, obviously relieved to have a break, returned to her chair, retrieved a glossy magazine from her handbag and thumbed through it while sipping her coffee.
Annie selected the orange crayon from the box. “May I help, Jackson?”
Jackson nodded distractedly, too absorbed in his artwork to look up.
Annie grinned. Once, when she was six, her grandfather had given her a coloring book similar to Jackson’s. She’d tried to color a few of the pictures before eventually hiding the book under her bed. Grandpa’s gift had ended up disappointing her. She’d have preferred a book of blank pages so that she could’ve drawn her own pictures and not have been forced to stay within the boundaries dictated by someone else.
Now she proceeded to draw a sun above Jackson’s purple tractor. The little boy’s hand stilled on the page as he watched what she was doing. She added touches of red and yellow to the sun and a little bit of green. Next to the tractor, she drew a tree. Two baby birds emerged from a nest and peered with wide eyes at the grape-colored tractor. Jackson peeked up at her and chortled with delight. Annie’s grin widened, her spirits lifting a tiny bit. It’d been a long time since anyone had shown admiration or appreciation for her artistry.
A warm breeze stirred through the room as the entrance door was shoved open.
“Hey, Maud,” a man said.
Jackson swiveled his head to observe the newcomer. Annie slowly returned the crayons to their box and closed the coloring book. She’d recognized his voice instantly, the moment he’d spoken, just as she’d known his footfall, sure and steady, moving across the linoleum floor and pausing behind her chair.
“Hello, Annie.”
She set the book and the box of crayons on the empty chair beside her and slowly stood before turning to look at him. She saw his brown-leather work boots, his long, blue-jeaned legs, the pale green chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled back from his sun-browned forearms. Her gaze skidded across his silvery-blue eyes and fastened on the thick crop of black hair that sculpted his head.
She smiled cautiously and said, “Hello, Jake.”
“You look like hell,” he said in a low, tight voice.
Her heart took a fast dive to the pit of her stomach. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious of her haggard appearance. “I didn’t get any sleep last night,” she replied with pretend calm.
“Just last night?” He didn’t wait for a response as he angled around the bank of chairs. Her throat went dry as he loomed closer. “Is that your luggage?” He was already reaching for the roller bag and the carry-on. She nodded mutely. He picked them up and strode to the door, leaving the portfolio for her to carry.
Maud was still on the phone. She placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “How’re you doing Jake, honey?” she called cheerily. “Is that boy of mine keeping out of mischief?”
Jake paused to acknowledge the older woman, bestowing a kindness and warmth upon her that was shocking in contrast to the chilling welcome he’d given to Annie. “I make sure he’s kept too busy to even think of mischief. Nick’s a hard worker, Maud. One of my best employees.”
Maud beamed. “I can’t ever thank you enough for hiring him. No one else would give him a chance.”
“With a sweetheart of a mother like you, I knew he couldn’t be all that bad. See you around, Maud.” He jerked his chin at Annie, indicating that she precede him through the door. Any vestige of friendliness abruptly vanished. “Let’s go. I have a meeting with one of my subcontractors at four o’clock.”
“Yes, sir,” she quipped with false bravado, granting him wide berth as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
He appeared not to have heard her. He strode towards a battered, vintage, red pickup truck parked across the street and tossed her luggage into the back without any apparent thought for its contents. He opened the driver’s door, settled onto the bench seat and slammed the door, keeping his eyes straight ahead. His jaw was set at a hard, impatient angle.
Annie pursed her lips. So, this was how it was going to be. But had she honestly expected anything different? Dismay and regret created a cold, bitter lump in her chest as she warily opened the passenger door. Immersed in tired despair, she almost didn’t notice the clutter inside the cab. Almost. “Jeez, Jake. When was the last time you cleaned this thing out?”
She shoved a briefcase, several rolls of architectural drawings, a beat-up yellow hardhat, and a stack of empty paper coffee cups out of the way before she sat down, her portfolio on her lap. Then she had to lift her bottom to retrieve a cardboard food container she’d overlooked. She curled her lip in distaste. Judging from the smell, the carton probably held an unfinished meal from several days ago.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Had I known that I’d be escorting a slick city gal in my humble vehicle, I would’ve spruced things up. I might’ve even worn a tie.”
She shot him a saccharine smile. “I’ve ridden the New York subway system. This is worse.”
He gave her a steely look. “Here. Give me that.” He stuffed the cardboard box and the coffee cups into a fast-food restaurant bag and shoved it under the seat. Then he started the engine. His arm fell across the vinyl backrest, his right hand grazing her shoulder as he glanced out the rear window before easing into the street. Annie felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck at that impersonal, split-second touch. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.
“What’s the matter now?”
“I can’t find anywhere to put my feet,” she quickly improvised.
His sigh was sharp with irritation. “Prop them on that toolbox. And put on your seatbelt. It’s the law.” His free hand returned to the gearshift.
Grudgingly, she obeyed him. “I’ve never known you to be so messy,” she snapped. “How can you stand it?”
“I’m a busy man,” he snapped back. “Cleaning out this truck is low on my list of priorities. And Mina won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.”
Her mouth wobbled into a tiny smile as she thought of the tough-as-nails German woman who’d been housekeeper and surrogate mother to the Lancaster men since Jake was a boy. “That’s probably a good thing. She might have a heart attack if she saw those fast-food containers. And that’s what you’ll have if you keep eating that garbage.”
“Spare me the lectures,” he retorted. “And don’t pretend that you actually care about my health or wellbeing.”
His harsh words instantly flattened her smile into a morose line. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t breach into territory she had no intention of exploring right now, if ever.
Thankfully, he proceeded to ignore her as he concentrated on driving through the busy center of downtown King’s Valley. With practiced serenity, she stared out the side window, willing herself not to reveal any evidence of just how achingly aware she was of his unfriendly presence beside her.
If only Grandma or Ethan had come to fetch her as originally planned! She hadn’t anticipated seeing Jake so soon. It was all she could do to keep him from seeing the hurt and guilt and desolation that gnawed relentlessly at her insides. She’d once been so proud, so fearless and indomitable. And, once upon a time, he’d gazed upon her with warm, clear, loving eyes that had held no secrets.
She felt as if she were walking a tightrope between the Jake of old and the Jake of the present, the friend and now, unhappily, the hostile stranger. Below her churned a whirlpool of words—spoken and unspoken—between them. She must find her balance if she hoped to survive the next few days. And after that? She groaned inwardly. All she foresaw was a black chasm.
“Zelda said you weren’t arriving until tomorrow,” Jake muttered, cutting the taut silence. “I assumed Maxwell would be with you.”
Annie continued to stare out the window. “No. He had a last-minute change in schedule.” Her tone was bored while inside her nerves where a mass of tangled knots. She prayed for strength to carry her through the wedding festivities. This was Gracie’s shining moment. Annie wasn’t going to allow anything to spoil her cousin’s happiness, least of all her own problems.
“I thought you were going to marry him right after the new year. Wasn’t that the grand plan?”
“Our plans have changed.”
“Oh? What’s the holdup?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“No. I guess it isn’t,” he agreed easily, sounding like he truly didn’t give a damn.
He pulled into a diagonal parking space in front of a row of businesses.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, braving a glance at his aloof profile.
He switched off the engine. “Zelda asked me to drop off some things at the hospice thrift shop,” he replied coolly, nodding at the building directly in front of them. “She had to clear out one of the attic rooms to make space for extra guests.”
“How’s she coping with all the visitors?”
“Your grandma can cope with just about anything.” The love and respect Jake had for Zelda McAllister was evident in his brisk reply.
A weak smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “She thrives on having people around her,” she said. “That’s why she turned the house into a bed and breakfast.”
He angled a look at her face, his hard eyes resting briefly on her mouth before flicking away. “Your bedroom isn’t there anymore, you know,” he observed in a flat voice. “I took down the wall in between your room and the one next door. Added a bathroom. Converted it into an en suite. It’s called the Orchard Room. That was Jessica’s idea.”
“Jessica?”
He made a harsh, scoffing sound. “Your brother’s wife?”
“Yes, I know. I didn’t know she was involved in the remodel.”
His eyes narrowed on her confused expression. “And why should you? It’s not as though you’ve kept up-to-date on your own family these last two years. Hell, I’m surprised you’ve bothered to come to Gracie’s wedding.”
“She asked me to be her maid of honor. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Naturally. And do you know why? Because that girl has more kindness and integrity in her little finger than you have in your entire body.”
Annie felt the last bits of color draining from her face. She stared at him with a stunned expression, speechless at his deliberate cruelty.
For a split second, something that looked like remorse flickered across his face. But then his eyelids lowered to half-mast, concealing any glimmer of emotion. “That wasn’t a nice thing to say,” he observed placidly. “I apologize.” He turned away, opened the door and stepped onto the street. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said over his shoulder. “Stay here.” He slammed the door shut.
She turned sideways, watching him lift a large cardboard box from the truck bed. Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the entrance to the thrift shop, his long-legged stride easy and confident, almost arrogant. It always had been, even when he was a boy.
He entered the shop. Through the window, she saw him being greeted by Bert and Jo Wakefield, the seventy-something sisters who were two of her grandmother’s dearest friends. Those two could talk the feathers off of a rooster. She watched Jake bend an ear to their amusing chatter as though he had all the time in the world. It appeared he’d be there for more than a minute. Good. That should give her some time to collect herself.
Her display of weakness angered her. Jake had always been able to easily play on her emotions. He was the only person capable of evoking such strong reactions from her. On the flip side, he’d also been the only one who could soothe her artistic temperament when things got a little bit crazy. When he’d severed the bond between them seven months ago, she’d escaped to her art, hoping to transfer her tumultuous feelings onto blank canvas. But those canvases had remained stark white. Her art, her one remaining refuge, had completely abandoned her.
She took deep, agitated breaths, blinking away threatening tears. She had to regain control before Jake returned. She turned her attention on the passersby, then the intricate detail on the facade of the old iron-front building in front of her. There was a sign in the window of the retail space next door to the thrift shop. The bold, black letters seemed to leap out at her. Willard Art Gallery, the sign read. Opening Soon.
She got out of the truck without a moment’s hesitation and approached the entrance. The door was unlocked. The smell of fresh paint greeted her as she stepped inside the room. A ladder stood in the center of the maple hardwood floor, a drop cloth beneath it. The walls were bare and cream-colored. A circular iron staircase led to an upper mezzanine. Skylights in the ceiling high above gave the spacious room a light, airy feeling. Annie took a deep breath and savored it as she absorbed an atmosphere that was wonderfully familiar to her.
A man emerged from a backroom, drawing up short when he spotted her. He appeared to be in his late thirties, impeccably attractive and with a slender build. His face lit up in a welcoming smile. “Hello.”
“Hi. I hope I’m not intruding.” She waved a hand towards the front window. “I saw the sign, and I was curious.”
He came towards her, pausing a couple of feet away. His glance was quick and astute as it glided over her blue jeans, black knee-high suede boots and hip-hugging black sweater. “You’re an artist,” he observed. He had a British accent.
Her eyes rounded with surprise. “How did you know?”
“That daub of blue paint on your right hand.” He shrugged modestly. “But it was just a lucky guess.”
She glanced at her hand and made a face. “I was in a hurry to pack last night. I didn’t close the lid on a tube of paint tightly enough.”
He smiled with the understanding of a fellow art lover. “You live around here?”
“I’m from here originally. I’ve been living in New York for the past few years. Is this your gallery?”
He nodded. “I’m opening the second week of June. I’m Lawrence Willard.”
Annie stretched out her hand. “Annie McAllister.”
His handshake was firm. “McAllister? Any relation to Zelda?”
“My grandmother. You know her?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” He laughed. “I moved here three months ago. I met her at an art exhibit, and she has since introduced me to just about every artist in this area. In fact,” he added as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. “My first show is focusing on local talent. Here’s my card. I’ve invited your grandmother to come. Perhaps you can join her?”
Annie hesitated. “I hadn’t planned to stay more than a few days...”
“You must come,” he insisted. “Zelda’s been gracious enough to allow me to exhibit some of her husband’s sculptures. His work is superb. I’m astonished he never took it further.”
“Most of his work was done when he was a young man. His family and his law practice took precedence later on.”
Recognition dawned on his face. “You must be the granddaughter Zelda raves about. She says that you inherited her husband’s talent and then some.”
Annie flushed. “The boasts of a proud grandmother, I’m afraid. I’ve never shown my work outside of exhibits in high school and college. Well. I did have a display in the lobby of an office building, but nothing came of it.” Her voice turned hollow as she added, “I’ve been working at my fiancé’s gallery for a couple of years.”
“Oh? Which gallery?”
“Maxwell Fischer? In Manhattan.”
“I’ve heard of it. You cater to the extremely wealthy collectors. I’m afraid my gallery is a bit more lowbrow.”
She smiled. “I can tell already that it will have a very pleasant atmosphere. I like it.”
He looked pleased. “Thank you.” He glanced at her paint-smudged hand again. “I’d like to see your artwork. Did you bring your portfolio on this trip?”
Her heart gave a thud of excitement. It’d been a long time since anyone had expressed interest in seeing her work. Too long. “I did. There are also several paintings in storage at my grandmother’s house.”
“Splendid! Can you bring—”
The front door was flung open, crashing against the wall. “There you are,” Jake said loudly, his tone seething. “Let’s go, Annie. I can’t be late for that appointment.”
His voice had the same effect as pulling the plug on a flashing strobe light. Annie’s excitement vanished. For a moment, just a brief moment, she’d forgotten why she’d dreaded this homecoming. “I’m sorry, Lawrence,” she said. “I’m only in town until Sunday afternoon.”
Lawrence peered at the tall man standing rigidly in the doorway, then glanced at Annie. “That’s too bad,” he replied, unable to conceal his perplexity and disappointment. “But if your plans change, you have my card. Call me.”
She shook his hand again. “Thanks, Lawrence. It was nice to meet you. Good luck with the opening.”
Jake said nothing as they returned to the truck.
Annie fastened her seatbelt with angry movements. “That was very rude,” she bit out as he backed the truck out of the parking space.
He stared straight ahead, his features intractable. “I told you to stay in the truck.”
“You were chatting up the Wakefield sisters. I was gone for less than ten minutes.”
“Chatting up that man,” he muttered. “Who was he? Why does he want you to call him?”
“His name is Lawrence Willard. He’s opening an art gallery. He’ll be showing some of my grandfather’s work.”
“Huh. Too bad you won’t be here to see it.”
“As if you care.”
“You know I don’t. Didn’t I make that clear to you seven months ago?”
“You said I wouldn’t hear from you again,” she reminded him bitterly. “You told me you were done with me. And yet, here you are. Why were you the one to pick me up?”
He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Lindy was at Zelda’s house when you called. She reminded Ethan that I was working on a project near the depot today. I agreed to do them this favor because they’re my friends.”
“And I’m not,” she said, tagging on the words he hadn’t spoken but that were implicit in his reply.
“Nope,” he said with a casualness that was more distressing than a cold, angry tone would’ve been.
Unable to speak, she concentrated on the passing scenery. They were on the outskirts of town now, heading west, approaching the rolling green hills that were dotted with farms and sprawling dairies, the occasional vineyard, dark clusters of oak trees, and tall lines of eucalyptus trees that had been planted over a century earlier to act as windbreaks against the brisk winds that came in from the Pacific.
She rolled down her window and tilted her head outside, indifferent to the May breeze that blew through her hair.
When she was younger, she’d often wondered what this valley must have looked like in the mid-1800s when her great-great maternal grandfather had immigrated here from the Azores. He’d purchased eighty acres of land in King’s Valley. In time, and after many failures, he’d established a thriving cherry and apple orchard. The fruit had been packaged and shipped down the King’s Valley River to San Francisco where the city-dwellers paid twice the price for fresh produce. Juan Coelho had become a moderately well-to-do man. But he’d married late in life and produced one son. And that son had only one child, Zelda. Zelda fell in love with a man who had minimal interest in farming; he’d been a lawyer by profession, an artist at heart. During the latter years of his life, Andrew McAllister had sold off a sizeable portion of the land to his friend and neighbor, Tom Lancaster, Jake’s father, who operated a thriving dairy business.
McAllister Farm now consisted of slightly over thirty acres. A few fruit orchards remained and were run as a U-Pick operation during the harvest season. Andrew McAllister had gifted a small portion of land to each of his four grandchildren. Ethan had recently built a house on his five acres. Annie hadn’t seen his house yet. Maybe she’d find some time to do that while she was here.
Lately, she’d given some thought to her own small plot of land. Five acres was paradise when compared to living in a high-rent, miniscule apartment shared with three other people in New York City. In her wildest daydreams, she’d imagined herself back at McAllister Farm in her own little cottage with an art studio attached. Grandma was in those dreams, of course, and Annie’s brothers, Ethan and Nate. Gracie popped into the picture now and then, and Gracie’s husband-to-be, Matt Lancaster. But, always, always, there was Jake. Not this cold, forbidding stranger sitting beside her now, but the Jake of her childhood, her best friend, the one who’d stuck with her through thick and thin, until they’d hurt each other so horribly.
The truck was slowing down. Just ahead was the small wood sign, white with dark blue letters, that said: McAllister Farm, U-Pick Monday thru Saturday, 10-3. Below that was a new sign: Cherry Hill Bed and Breakfast.
Annie pulled her head back inside the cab. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears. It was from the wind, she told herself. “Stop the truck.”
Jake gave her a quick look before complying. He brought the truck to a stop in a turnout before the entrance to the farm. He switched off the engine. He turned to face her, setting his arm on the back of the seat. His expression was blank. “What?” he asked with smooth indifference.
She took a bracing breath. “Is this how it’s going to be while I’m here, Jake? You treating me this way? Because it’s not fair to Gracie. We can’t let our differences ruin her wedding day.”
“Everyone knows how I feel about you now, Annie. If I treat you different from the way I did in the past, it won’t come as a surprise.”
“It won’t?” she asked, hating the quiver in her voice.
He shrugged. “Nope. Did you think I was simply speaking out of anger seven months ago? That I’d get over it?” He shook his head, his mouth twisting in a scornful smile. “I meant it then, and I mean it now. But,” he conceded, as if bestowing a generous favor. “You’ll only be here for a few days anyway. I’m sure we can both manage to play nice. For Gracie’s sake.”
With that, he pivoted back to the steering wheel, turned the key in the ignition and pressed his foot on the accelerator. The truck skidded a little on the gravel as he took a sharp turn onto the long drive that led to her grandmother’s house.
Annie tamped down the tears that were fighting to the surface as she gazed at this beloved place again. The fields on either side of the drive abounded with cherry and apple trees at full blossom. Around the curve ahead stood the old barn, showing off a fresh coat of red paint. There was Brutus, Ethan’s black Labrador, giving chase to some unseen object in a side pasture. There was the two-story gabled house and, standing before it, the white picket fence guarding Zelda’s prize roses. And there was her grandmother, Zelda, coming down the front path, waving both hands in joyful greeting.
Jake brought the truck to a stop alongside the front gate. Without a word, he got out of the cab, leaving the door open, making it very clear he wasn’t staying for long.
“Annie! What a nice surprise!” Zelda said as Annie opened the passenger door and slid down from the cab.
Annie moved into her grandmother’s outstretched arms. Her troubles were momentarily forgotten as she snuggled her cheek against her grandmother’s bosom and hugged her tightly, fighting threatening tears all the while.
Zelda drew back and cupped Annie’s face in her work-worn hands. Her dark brown eyes swept over her granddaughter’s pale features. “You must be exhausted,” she said, her brow wrinkled with concern. “Didn’t you sleep on your flight?” Not waiting for an answer, she curved an arm around Annie’s waist and walked her up the front path. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, but that means I get to have you here for an extra day.”
They paused in the entranceway.
Jake had followed them. He deposited Annie’s luggage on the floor and stood back, arms folded across his chest, his face stoic.
“I want you to go straight to bed and take a nap,” Zelda told Annie, brooking no arguments. “Jake, can you bring her things?” She climbed up the stairs, Annie in tow. “I’ve put you in the Orchard Room. That’s what we call your old room now. It’s one of our biggest, most popular rooms. Everyone likes the view of the old apple orchard. Here we are.”
While the room wasn’t exactly the way Annie had left it five years ago, it instilled an immediate feeling of peace. Her twin-size bed had been replaced with a knotty-pine, queen-size four poster draped with a jewel green quilt. A tall, pine dresser stood along one wall, a matching vanity table with a dainty padded chair against another. The walls were painted a soft, buttercup-yellow above beaded, white wainscoting. Through a partially open door, she glimpsed a sparkling white bathroom, complete with a clawfoot tub. Warm, spring air wafted through the lace-curtained windows, carrying the sweet scent of apple blossoms.
She felt the tight knots of tension in her body slowly begin to uncoil.
Jake dropped her luggage on the floor and turned to go.
“Jake,” Zelda said. “Come to dinner tonight. Ask your father too.”
“I don’t know, Zelda. I’m pretty busy.”
Annie walked slowly across the room and sat down on the bed.
“Nonsense,” her grandmother said, her voice seeming to come from a far-off place. “This will be a welcome home dinner for Annie. I made a cobbler from last year’s cherries. Be here at seven o’clock.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gracie, tall, slender, glowing with excitement, rushed into the room, brushing past Jake who was on his way out. She sat down on the bed and threw her arms around her cousin. “Annie! You’re here! Oh, you’ve got to see my dress. Grandma and I picked it up from the seamstress yesterday. It’s a dream. You have to go into town first thing tomorrow for your fitting.” Gracie’s mouth puckered with concern. “The dress might be too big. You’ve lost a lot of weight. Jeez, you’re practically a skeleton. Doesn’t she look awful, Grandma?”
Annie couldn’t help a wan smile. Gracie threw so much drama into every word she uttered. It was a wonder her cousin hadn’t pursued an acting career.
Zelda tsk-tsked. “A few days of my cooking will fatten her up. You’ve obviously been working way too hard, Annie. What’s that fiancé of yours been thinking, letting you get so skinny?”
“Stop worrying about me,” Annie begged tiredly. “I just need some sleep.”
“Gracie, pull the shades. Annie, take those boots off, there’s a dear. I’ll tuck you in.”
Annie gratefully surrendered to her grandmother’s tender care. She sank into the welcoming comfort of the bed, too exhausted to whisper more than a heartfelt thank you as Zelda tucked the quilt around her and kissed her cheek. “Welcome home, sweet pea. Have a good rest.”
Annie’s eyelids drooped shut. She heard her grandmother shushing Gracie as they left the room. Then all was quiet. Except...
Her eyelids were too heavy to open fully. Through a thick veil of lashes, she saw Jake leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest, hands tucked under his armpits.
He watched her, his expression inscrutable.
Her heart thudded against her ribs for an indeterminable stretch of time as she watched him watching her. His face was a closed book that she longed to read.
At last, he shoved himself away from the doorway and backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
She began to breathe again.