24

These long road trips were getting old.

Marshall jumped down from the driver’s seat of his new truck. He’d test driven three different vehicles a few days ago just to make the salesman at the used car lot happy, but all along he’d had his eye on the ten-year-old hunter green Ford. The thing had plenty of miles on it and a few scratches on the dash, but it suited him.

A gentle rain pattered on its top, and he pulled up the hood of his jacket. Despite the rain, stubborn sunbeams pushed through the clouds, and he moved without hurry to the little yellow house.

All it had taken was some Googling and a couple of phone calls to find this address and confirm that the woman he needed to speak to was, in fact, in residence. He’d thought about having this conversation over the phone but it didn’t feel right. Instead, he’d asked to visit.

So here he was, once again road-weary and approaching an unknown house in the rain.

But oh, how different this was than the night he’d stumbled upon the Everwood. This time, his head was clear and his steps sure. This time, he wasn’t running away from a life he could barely bring himself to care about anymore. He was walking toward a life he couldn’t wait to begin living.

Or had already begun living, really. Easter Sunday with Beth and Alex and the kids had been the first holiday in years he’d actually enjoyed. And that night when Alex had dropped him off at his townhouse, it wasn’t loneliness that awaited him, but instead, action. He’d started packing boxes and hadn’t quit until sunrise.

He’d spent the following days making calls, meeting with a realtor, breaking the news to his sister and Captain Wagner. He’d even called Penny.

And of everyone he’d talked to, of all the encouragement he’d received, hers were the words he’d replayed over and over in the days leading up to today.

“She’d be so excited for you, Marshall. She’d start jumping up and down and running from one end of the townhouse to the other.”

“And the neighbors would bang on the adjoining wall.”

“And she’d only run faster.”

He hadn’t been able to see Penny’s face, but surely there’d been tears in her eyes too. Just like in his. Tears a little more sweet than bitter, although there’d always be some of both.

But he could finally truthfully say it was better this way. Better to feel—to feel all of it—than nothing at all.

“You should go see her before you go, Marshall. Tell her yourself.”

He almost hadn’t been able to do it—stop at the cemetery to see Laney before hitting the road this morning. Any other time he’d tried in the past two years, he’d never made it farther than the iron fence encircling the graveyard.

But this time, he’d gone through with it.

And now, hours later, despite limbs stiff from too many hours in the truck and a growling stomach, he was still wrapped in the tranquility of that place, the impact of those moments.

Knees in dew-tipped grass. A hushed breeze in the trees. It was strangely solacing, the way grief and love had entwined around and inside him as he stared at his daughter’s tombstone.

“I will love you and miss you always, Laney Grace Hawkins. Always. But for you, I’m going to choose hope today. I’m going to choose to believe that there’s still something good for me here.”

Rolling clouds had drawn his gaze to the azure sky. And for a wonderful, spellbinding moment, he’d been able to picture it so clearly. Laney pumping her little legs and running through the heavens, moving clouds and lighting the sky with her laughter.

Goose bumps had covered every inch of his flesh and those words he’d hurled at God in the hospital chapel came flooding back. “If you want me to believe . . . you’re going to have to give me something. Anything.”

The wind had picked up and the grass and trees around him bowed. And he could still see her running even as a sob, somehow grateful, stole the breath from his lungs.

This was the gift. The something, anything, he’d begged God for. He’d see Laney run again someday. He knew he would.

He’d wept until he was spent, and when he’d finally stood, he was a man ready to keep living in the now—in all its abundance and possibilities and longings too—even as he held on to the hope of then.

He shook the hood from his head now, amazed at his lack of a headache. The drive should’ve done it, if not the tears.

Marshall paused on the front steps of the yellow house. A wreath of sprigs and little white flowers decorated the front door and a silver mailbox to the side was half-open, catalogues and envelopes sticking out. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand to knock.

But the door swung open before he could. “Marshall Hawkins. It’s about time you got here.” Lenora Worthington clucked her tongue. “And look at you, you’re all wet.”

“Even if I didn’t already have the best reason ever to be here in Iowa, this coffee alone would make the whole thing worth it.”

Mara laughed at the pure appreciation on her father’s face as he popped off the lid of his paper cup and made a show of smelling Coffee Coffee’s house blend. She tucked her mocha into the cupholder between her seat behind the wheel and Dad’s.

Dad. Here. In Iowa.

He’d flown in this morning and they’d gone straight to the bank. He hadn’t even seen the Everwood yet, though he’d have plenty of time to explore the house in coming days. He planned to stay for the whole week.

She planned to stay . . . for a whole life. The papers she’d just signed at the bank—her signature next to Dad’s—gave her roots here. Gave her purpose and direction and so much excitement.

She owned the Everwood. She owned the Everwood. She shifted in her seat to face her father. “Dad—”

“Please don’t thank me again. All I did was cosign.”

“That’s hardly all you did. There’s that little matter of the down payment.” A breeze brushed in through her open window, carrying the scent of freshly mowed grass from the sloping knoll across the road.

The riverfront bustled with activity today—someone walked a dog along the path that traced the river, shop doors opened and closed as townspeople took advantage of the sunlit morning. City employees were at work, filling the flower baskets hanging from lampposts and tending to the riverbank.

Mara drove her father through the downtown—showing off the town square where she’d been in that hilarious pet fashion show. They passed the bakery where she’d first met Jen and Sam, Jen’s newspaper office, The Red Door where Mara had made her speech. When they reached the edge of town, she pointed out the sign for the Valley Orchard, where Lucas worked with his sister.

She skipped taking him past the depot, though. Memories of that particular Maple Valley landmark were still a little too fresh.

She’d almost texted Marshall so many times in the past week. She’d considered calling. Emailing. Just to tell him the good news. To tell him about Dad and the Everwood and . . .

But every time, she’d stopped herself. He’d made a decision, and she needed to respect it.

Finally, she pointed her car toward the lane that led home. “That’s the Everwood Bed & Breakfast up ahead.”

Fresh white paint gleamed against the backdrop of the grove. Purplish-blue shutters bordered all four windows at the front of the house on the second floor and sunlight glinted from the attic’s circle window. Clusters of hedges and flowers surrounded the house, and new pavers led the way from the parking lot to the porch. All Marshall’s doing while she’d been at the hospital in Illinois.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” And it was hers.

Of course, there was still so much more work to be done on the inside, and taking care of the grounds alone might end up being more challenging than she realized. She might need to hire someone, take on an employee or two. She’d have to figure out how to pay for the extra help. Maybe in the off-season she could find a part-time job.

“Lost in thought?” Dad asked.

She rolled up her window as she neared the parking lot. “Oh, just a little reality setting in. That’s all.” But this was a good reality. A really, really good reality. Only one thing—one person—could make it any better.

Or maybe two. It’d be lovely to have Lenora here, as well.

But Lenora had her own new beginning to enjoy. They’d stay close, visit each other. Mara had convinced Lenora to buy a cell phone. Davis had promised to teach her to use it.

A promise he’d clearly followed through on considering the number of texts and calls Mara had received.

Dad leaned forward, his crinkly-eyed gaze peering through the windshield. “Say, I thought you said you only had one guest at the moment.”

“Yeah, though we’ve got a couple more coming in. But not until the end of the week.”

“Then why are there two trucks in the parking lot now?”

Huh. She recognized Lucas’s truck, but the other . . .? “Maybe we have an unexpected guest. Yikes, at some point I’m going to need to figure out what to do when I’m not here. Just lock the doors and put up a Closed sign? I should ask Lenora what she did back before I arrived. She manned the place on her own for a few months before—”

Surprise stole the rest of her words as the porch came into better view. Since when was there a swing on the porch?

“Mara?”

“Uh, sorry, I’m just confused all of a sudden.” She pulled into the lot and shifted into park. “There wasn’t a porch swing when I left the house this morning.”

It swayed just slightly in the breeze. Had Lucas hung it? Sam? But what would’ve made them think to do it? She’d had the thought a couple times that the far end of the porch would be the perfect spot for a swing, but she didn’t remember mentioning it to anyone. It reminded her of that magazine ad she’d seen on Marshall’s nightstand.

She slipped from the car and started toward the house, the sound of her dad’s closing door clanging behind her.

At the bottom porch step, she stilled. Two porcelain dolls, situated in the center of the swing, green and yellow pillows on either side.

“Marshall Hawkins.” She breathed his name in a whisper, her heart beginning to thud.

She raced up the rest of the steps. “Sorry, Dad,” she called over her shoulder. “I have to check on something. I have to find . . .” She barreled into the house, toed off her shoes. “Marshall?”

She veered from the lobby toward the open staircase, started up and immediately tripped over something. Lenny! She caught herself on the banister, stepped over the cat, and ran back down. No point in looking upstairs first. Marshall was probably in the den or the kitchen or maybe out back. “Hey, Lenny,” she called over her shoulder. “Sorry to run you over.”

Dad stood in the open doorway, and she barely caught the look of amusement plastered on his face before swerving into the sitting room. Empty.

Dining room. Empty.

She burst into the kitchen.

And smacked into a wall of plaid. Marshall.

Did she say his name or only think it as she toppled backward amidst a shower of . . . cereal?

His low rumble of laughter was pure music as he grasped her hand just before she hit the floor in the most un-graceful move of her life. He hoisted her upright, but one foot landed on the cereal box he must’ve dropped, which nearly sent her sliding again.

And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Because Marshall tightened his grip and pulled her to him. And what had only been a blurred view at first came into focus. His bristled cheeks spread into a grin, complete with those grooves that were most definitely dimples. Gray eyes etched with flecks of gold she hadn’t noticed before—like a sunlit calm after a summer rainstorm. Plaid shirt rolled to his elbows, unbuttoned and loose over a dark tee. A piece of cereal caught in the cuff of his jeans.

Her gaze traveled back up. “You . . . you’re . . . you’re eating my cereal.”

“Well, I was until you spilled it.”

“Good thing I always keep a backup box in the pantry.” He still held her hand and she stood so close to him she could swear she heard his heartbeat, pulsing nearly as loudly as her own. “There’s a porch swing.”

“So there is.”

“And . . . and dolls.”

“So there are.” He tugged her free from the mess of cereal around their feet until she stood with her back against the kitchen wall.

“Are you going to explain?”

“Shouldn’t I get a ‘Hi, Marshall’ first? An ‘I’m glad you’re back’ or an ‘I’m happy to see you?’” His free hand came up to the wall beside her. “I mean, that is, assuming you are happy to see me. If you aren’t—”

“Of course I’m happy to see you, you exasperating man.”

He released her hand and brought his to his chest only long enough to say, “Me? Exasperating?” And then that hand was on the wall too—on her other side, hemming her in.

She couldn’t breathe and she didn’t really want to. Because if this wasn’t real . . .

He inched closer, the oh-so-faint tangy scent of his cologne enveloping her. Oh yeah, it was real.

“You are exasperating. The dolls. My cereal.” She tipped her head to meet his gaze. “I didn’t think you were coming back. You’ve been gone three weeks.”

His lips were a breath away from hers when he spoke. “Well, I’m here now.”

And then he kissed her. Softly, at first. Sweetly. But when her hands slipped under his top shirt and her fingers grasped the back of his tee, when she whispered his name on his lips, his kiss became something else entirely. Deeper, hungrier. He wrapped her in his arms, and she returned his kisses with everything in her.

Until a throat clearing in the kitchen doorway yanked her from her bliss.

And Marshall swung his gaze over his shoulder.

And Dad crossed his arms. “You must be Marshall. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

He’d seen Mara blush before. But this was her most adorable look yet—cheeks so rosy her cute freckles almost disappeared. Her aqua gaze shot from Marshall to the man in the doorway and back to Marshall once more.

“That’s my dad,” she whispered, her arms still twined around him.

And it was all he could do not to completely ignore the man and kiss her all over again. But wait, her dad?

He couldn’t decide whether to be overjoyed for her or annoyed on his own behalf. Sure, it’d be good to meet the guy, but they’d kind of been in the middle of a little something here.

Or a lot something.

Something that had been even better than he hoped for. He’d hoped she would be happy to see him. He’d hoped she’d welcome him back and hear him out and not hold what he’d said at the depot or the way he’d left against him.

But this . . . her . . . just now . . .

Great, was he flushing too?

He turned, reluctant to face Mara’s father. “Uh, hi.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

What was he supposed to say? That he was a little flustered at the moment because of what a good kisser the man’s daughter happened to be?

Mara’s laughter saved the moment. “Dad, this is Marshall. Marsh, this is my dad, Stephen Bristol. Shake hands or something, will you?”

Cereal crunched underfoot as Marshall stepped forward to obey Mara. They shook and by the time they parted, the older man had given up biting back his grin. “I really wanted to play the stern father role solely because I missed out on doing that when Mara was a teen. But clearly the time for that has passed.”

“Um, Dad, could you give us a couple of minutes? Marsh and I need to talk for a sec.”

He harrumphed. “Talk. Right.”

“Dad.”

He smirked before retreating.

Marshall turned to Mara, taking in everything he’d missed earlier. Her hair reached past her shoulders in loose waves. Black and white shirt, yellow sweater, black leggings.

Bare feet. His smile widened as his gaze swept upward. “Your dad is right. I do have some explaining to do. But I’m not the only one. Your dad is here.”

“I know.”

“He’s back in your life.”

“He is. It’s still a little awkward but it’s good.”

“Mara—”

“What are you doing here, Marshall. You have to explain.”

He took a step toward her.

She stepped back. “No. If you get too close, I’ll kiss you, or you’ll kiss me, or we’ll both—” She shook her head. “Explain.”

He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit. “I went to see Lenora.”

She sat. “You did?”

“Just yesterday.” He dropped into the chair next to her, scooting it over the floor until he faced her. “I had this great plan. I was going to stop her from selling the Everwood. But she told me I was too late.” He reached for Mara’s hand. “Someone else was already in the process of buying it. And there was no chance in the world she’d be talked out of it.”

“She told you who the someone was?”

“Yep.”

“And now you’re here because . . .”

He could live on the captivating mix of hope and desire in Mara’s eyes. If he could just find the right words . . .

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and the words found him. “She would’ve liked you.” He heard the rasp in his voice, the uncertainty. But he kissed her hand and willed himself on. “She was always saying she wished she had red hair. Like Anne of Green Gables.”

He looked up to see tears in Mara’s eyes. And it was all he needed to keep going.

“Laney would’ve loved you. She’d have loved your taste in food—sugary cereal, especially.”

Mara gave a small laugh as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“She loved running. I always figured she’d end up as a track and field girl or maybe a cross country runner. I’d have to be that parent going to meets and sprinting to get pictures of her.” He reached for Mara’s other hand. “Speaking of which, I brought some pictures of her if you’d like to see them.”

“Of course I would.”

“And you’re okay with me staying?”

“For how long?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” One of her tears landed on his knuckle. “I think . . . I think I’m still grieving, Mara, and maybe there’s a piece of me that always will be. But I’ve spent enough time being broken. I’m ready to let God put me back together. I know now that there’s life beyond the brokenness. But I can’t imagine that life without you.”

She was crying now, her shoulders shaking, and she pulled one hand away to swipe her eyes. He gently towed her from her chair and onto his lap and as she cried into his shirt, arms around his neck, a joy he’d thought once lost forever settled into his core.

And it reached deeper still when her fingers brushed from around his neck to his face. With both hands on his cheeks, she looked into his eyes. “Marshall Hawkins. Thirty-five. Milwaukee. I love you like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I love you too, Mara Bristol.” He kissed a stray tear on her cheek then pulled her close. “But there’s one thing I should tell you.”

“What?”

“It was my birthday a few days after I returned to Milwaukee. I’m thirty-six now. And you should probably amend the Milwaukee part too. I’m selling my townhouse. I’m hoping to talk Sam into giving me a job. Maybe just part-time at first so I can still help around here.”

She laughed against his neck as his arms tightened around her. “Marshall Hawkins. Thirty-six. Maple Valley. I like the sound of that.”