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The morning after the tornado, Jill stepped out of the garage apartment and gasped. Overnight, the temperatures had plummeted into the mid-forties, forcing Jill back inside to retrieve her thick eggplant-colored coat along with her matching scarf and gloves.
Thankfully, the cookie deliveries would only take about a half hour, with The Pit and the library being the only orders to fill. After Jill gathered the boxes of cookies from a quiet kitchen—Lucille was snoozing in the living room, and Rick was likely getting some work done upstairs—she walked down the driveway and made her way to the town square.
The storm had made its presence known everywhere. Utility workers assessed damage to power lines, volunteers picked up litter and debris that collected near shops and curbs, an entire strand of Christmas evergreen drooped from overhead, and tree limbs lay scattered on the library’s usually pristine lawn.
Jill approached the library’s front door, eager to dart out of the cold, and pulled on the handle while balancing the box of cookies in the crook of her other arm. Inside, Chaynie was at the circulation desk and set down her paperwork when she saw Jill.
“Oh, the cookies! You can set them here.” She patted the desk with her palm then pushed an envelope containing payment toward Jill. “The kids have been asking me about these all week. Word is getting out about Lucille’s cookies.”
Jill didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was the final delivery run. “I’ve added a few extras,” Jill noted, “for you and the other employees. You’ve been so kind, answering my questions about the Stout family and finding me those books.”
“How are you liking them?”
“I read the Morgan biography in nearly one day. Totally fascinating!”
“I told you!” Chaynie beamed. “She was a remarkable lady.”
“Could I keep the books another week? Looks like I might be sticking around longer than planned.”
“Of course! As long as you need them.”
Before parting ways, they chatted about the storm’s damage and how the library was hit particularly hard by softball-sized hail. Chaynie was having the roof assessed later that afternoon.
Jill gathered the remaining box of cookies and headed for The Pit. Even though the restaurant wouldn’t open for another two hours, Jill had texted ahead, and one of the sisters had unlocked the door for the cookie delivery. Jill opened the door to the scents of spicy meats and the sound of raised voices.
“It’s eight chopped beef and four dozen ribs,” Tessa told her sister through the kitchen’s cutout window as Jill approached the counter.
“Well, don’t blame me,” Darlene sniped. “I can never read that chicken-scratch writing of yours,” she grumbled as she disappeared back inside the kitchen.
With wide eyes, Tessa noticed Jill standing there. “Oh. Sorry about all the fussing. Sisters. Can’t live with ‘em, and all that...”
Jill grinned and set the box on the counter.
“Can you believe these temperatures?” Tessa shuddered. “My nose was frozen on my walk to work this morning. We might even get some actual flurries this afternoon!”
Jill was tempted to show her the photo of the five-foot snowdrifts that Lindsey had texted the night before.
“And what a storm last night!” Tessa continued. “Word is that the tornado touched down behind the square, missing the elementary school by barely a quarter mile! Tore up some trees from the roots then moved on. How did y’all make out at Lucille’s place?”
Jill told her about the hail, the loss of electricity, and the downed tree. “Rick said he’d get a friend to assess the damage. I’m hoping they can save the tree, but I doubt it.”
“Rick? Oh, you mean Patrick.”
“Patrick?” Jill tilted her head, trying to register the name.
“Yeah. Our biggest town celebrity. Besides you, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
Tessa seemed suddenly sheepish, like maybe she’d said something she shouldn’t have. “I assumed you’d been told by now. Rick is Patrick Wright... The Patrick Wright of Quantum Software.”
Jill’s eyes grew wide. She wasn’t familiar with the Patrick Wright part, but anyone living on Earth had heard of Quantum, a popular file-sharing software. “What do you mean? He works there?”
Tessa chuckled. “Honey, he created that company from scratch. It’s all his brainchild. That man is a bona fide zillionaire. I thought you knew.”
“Tess! I need some help with these orders!” Darlene called from deep inside the kitchen.
Tessa clucked and shook her head. “Sorry, hon, gotta run. Duty calls. Thanks again for the cookies! You’re a genuine lifesaver.”
Jill exited The Pit, trying to process the bizarre new information about Rick. Surely, Tessa was mistaken, or it was all a joke. Rick—mild-mannered, humble, overprotective Rick—a successful zillionaire? A celebrity? Nothing about him told her it was true. That was not the Rick she had come to know.
Eager to do some quick research, she lingered inside The Pit’s doorway, pulled out her phone, then Googled his name in a matter of seconds. And there it was, easily confirmed. Patrick Wright, creator of Quantum software. She scrolled through the results and saw a handful of articles. He had a scarce online presence for someone so famous. The one and only picture she could find of him was a clean-shaven portrait from several years back, nothing recent.
Jill pocketed her phone and walked swiftly back to the house, eager to speak with Lucille, and noticed an unfamiliar pickup truck parked at Lucille’s curb. After tapping on the kitchen door and getting no response, not even a corgi bark, Jill cracked open the door and walked inside. “Anybody here?”
She heard a jovial shout coming from the back porch. Stepping outside, she saw Lucille covered in blankets and sitting in a lawn chair with her leg propped up on a thick pillow. She was belly-laughing as she watched the corgis wrestle and play in the center of the yard.
“Hello!” she greeted Jill. She shielded her eyes from the bright sky and added, “Join me.”
As Jill took a seat in the second lawn chair, she noticed the other activity going on in the yard—Rick and another man stared up at the damaged tree, oblivious to the dogs’ shenanigans.
“It’s hard to believe we had such awful weather last night,” Jill said. “And now this calm, cold day. The dogs love this crisp air, don’t they?”
“It’s so good for them,” Lucille agreed.
George suddenly came to a halt, tongue wagging, then turned to chase Gracie. Jill chuckled. “Looks like they’re taking turns herding each other.”
“They are,” Lucille confirmed.
“So what’s the verdict on the tree?” Jill asked.
Lucille gave a deep sigh in return. “I’m still hoping they can save part of it, but I’m doubtful. I keep telling myself it’s only a tree, but it feels like more. Frank told me he used to swing from that tree as a little boy—this was his childhood home,” she said wistfully. “So I guess it isn’t only a tree, not really.”
“I’m sorry,” Jill offered. “That’s heartbreaking.”
“Thank you, dear. It’s all about perspective, though. I’m grateful the damage wasn’t worse and that no one was hurt.”
“Things were pretty scary last night. But Rick stepped in and took care of everything.”
Lucille moved her attention from the tree to Jill with a wry grin. “You had to be hunched together in that tiny closet for a nice bit of time, I imagine. It was good for you both, I think.”
It was, Jill thought, remembering Rick’s unexpected confession about his parents’ death. But then, on top of that, Tessa’s recent shocking revelation echoed in Jill’s head—“our town celebrity, a bona fide zillionaire”—and she wondered if she’d ever known Rick at all.
“Mrs. Wright?”
Lucille turned to see Rick’s friend, a burly, balding man, approaching the porch. The corgis came trotting along behind him. As the man came closer, Jill could tell he was probably Rick’s age. He had a youngish face, but the hair loss made him seem a decade older.
“Lenny, give it to me straight. I can take it,” Lucille said.
Rick—Patrick—followed Lenny and paused at the edge of the porch. When he made eye contact with Jill, he gave a small smile but then frowned. He must’ve read the lingering confusion on Jill’s face.
“Well, ma’am, it’s gotta come down. The trunk has been compromised. It’s basically a dead tree. I’m sorry. I can call Jorge’s crew and have him chop it up and clear the stump. He’s busy today, so maybe later in the week. The good news is we can chop most of it up for firewood. At least it won’t go to waste.”
“That’s something.” Lucille nodded. “Well, as my grandmother used to say, ‘It is what it is.’ Thank you for coming out quickly this morning. Oh, I forgot—Jill, this is Lenny. He’s a police officer who worked with my husband for many years, but his side job is town handyman.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jill told him.
“You too.” Lenny turned to Rick. “I’ll give you a call about Jorge.”
The two men ended with a vigorous handshake before Lenny left through the back gate.
Lucille noticed the corgis puffing out cold air at her feet. “You two need some water. And some warmth. Let’s go inside,” she suggested.
Jill stood to help Lucille to her feet. “How’s the boot coming along?”
“I’m getting used to it, I guess. It’s not as clunky as it was yesterday. Do you want some cocoa?” Lucille offered. “I’m about to make some.”
“Sure. I’ll be there in a sec,” Jill said, watching Lucille enter the house with the corgis.
“Well, I hate to be right.” Rick peeled off his work gloves and peered out at the backyard.
“About what?” Jill’s mind was elsewhere.
“About the tree.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s a shame.” She didn’t want to talk about the tree anymore. She wanted to talk about “Patrick,” but she wasn’t sure how to approach it.
“You look preoccupied,” he told her.
“I guess I am. This morning, I found out something I wasn’t supposed to find out, and now I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it.”
“Something bad?”
“No, just confusing.”
Rick’s forehead crinkled.
“When I delivered the cookies to The Pit a few minutes ago, Tessa let it slip that your name is Patrick. She said you’re the Patrick Wright who started Quantum software.” As she spoke the words, Jill realized she hadn’t considered his possible reactions until that very moment. There was surely a reason he hadn’t mentioned his true identity, even after all the time he’d spent with Jill. She wondered if he would be irritated at her exposing him before he was ready to explain. Or maybe he would shrink back behind his protective wall and cancel out all the progress they’d made.
But Rick’s expression didn’t show any of those things. He simply relaxed his forehead. “Oh. That.”
“I had no idea you were... well, that you were him.”
Rick turned to face her squarely, his breath coming out in cold vapors. “I should’ve told you. I don’t know why I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I guess because, being here in Morgan’s Grove, I’m just Rick. And sometimes I forget about that other persona, Patrick. Or maybe I don’t want to be him anymore.”
“Why not?”
He moved his gaze downward, to the work gloves in his hands. “Because it almost feels like a put-on, that whole lifestyle. California, the tech industry, the publicity that goes with it. I’m not cut out for it. I mean, I’m a country boy from Texas.” He grinned that gorgeous grin and shook his head. “I guess I wanted you to know me first. The real me.”
That was the best answer he could’ve given Jill, and she almost felt flattered by it. He cared what she thought about him.
“I get it,” she said. “But why stay in California with the company? I mean, if you’re that unhappy with things.”
“I’ve thought about it for years, actually. But it’s all I know. In spite of the headaches of running a major corporation, I’m proud of what we’ve done. We’ve made people’s lives easier with the software. That’s something.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s complicated. It’s not easy to walk away, even if I wanted to.”
But it sounded like he did want to, which might involve a move back home to Morgan’s Grove. Jill wondered if he’d ever voiced any of his future plans to Lucille.
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
The back door opened, breaking the long gaze between them, as Lucille announced, “Cocoa’s almost ready! Who’s in?”
“Me!” Jill said, thinking Rick would join them.
But instead, he told Lucille, “Later, maybe. I want to clear some of these branches.” Rick slipped on his work gloves again, already assessing the backyard still littered with stray debris.
Jill entered the kitchen then removed her coat and draped it over the breakfast-table chair. “I forgot to ask you the all-important question last night,” she told Lucille. “Did you win at bridge?”
Lucille chuckled as she limped toward the stove to retrieve the kettle. Jill thought of offering to help but knew she would be sweetly rebuffed. Lucille didn’t enjoy being overly coddled, even when she needed it.
“Yes, in fact! I was the big winner. Well, until a tornado rudely interrupted us.” At the island, she poured the steaming water into the first mug as Jill watched the powdered cocoa rise to the top in foamy bubbles. “I’m glad I went last night. Chatting with friends, laughing, catching up with their lives—I’ve missed it more than I knew. For the first time in a long time, things have started to feel, dare I say it, normal again. And happy. I wasn’t expecting to be happy. Not this soon.” Lucille filled the second mug. “So, today was the last of the cookie deliveries?”
“It was. Everything went well. But...”
Lucille paused and set down the kettle on the granite. “Was there a problem?”
“No, nothing like that. I found out some information about Rick today. Tessa told me, thinking I already knew.”
Lucille gave the same quizzical look that Rick had given earlier.
Jill explained what Tessa had told her, then said, “And I just talked to Rick outside. He confirmed it. He didn’t tell me much, though. Said something about wanting to be himself, just Rick, while he’s here in town?”
Lucille leaned against the island’s edge to face Jill. “I’ve been waiting to tell you this story, but didn’t think it was my place. But now that Rick already knows you know...”
Jill assumed Lucille’s account would be much more detailed and enlightening than her own Google search could ever be.
“After Rick graduated from UT, he had this brainstorm, an idea for a software company, file sharing or some such. He explained the details and all the complicated technology, but Frank and I didn’t understand a bit of it. Still, Rick assured us his company could revolutionize things, make a mark in the world of technology. It was something ‘visionary,’ he called it. Well, he had my full support, but Frank was wary. He didn’t believe in gambling, and that’s what he thought it was, taking a great risk. A financial risk. Plus, he never really considered the technology field to be a legitimate career. So he and Rick butted heads over it, and I endured a couple of heated arguments between them. In the end, though, Rick was stubborn, and Frank was too, and neither would change their minds, so Rick pressed on.”
Jill was riveted, impatient to hear the rest of the story. It explained so much about the complex relationship between Rick and his grandfather.
“In spite of Frank’s dire warnings, Rick started Quantum the very next year with his UT roommate, Mark. They were both only twenty-five years old and sank every penny of their savings into the company. Over the next five years, Rick proved Frank wrong, and the company grew and grew. It became bigger than anyone, including Rick, ever dreamed. He used his given name, Patrick, so that’s what the business and computer worlds know him as.” Lucille picked up a spoon and stirred one of the mugs. “He’s uncomfortable with his status. He never intended to be a millionaire. Rick doesn’t know what to do with all that money—in fact, he gives most of it away to charities and individual families in need. You’ve seen his old truck and the way he dresses. It’s hardly the lifestyle of a wealthy man. He lives in a modest beachside house in San Diego. I think the money almost embarrasses him.”
“I actually know the company,” Jill admitted. “The software is even downloaded on my laptop right now. I can’t believe I never put two and two together on my own or that nobody’s let this slip before now. I’ve had dozens of conversations with townspeople, and it’s never come up.”
Lucille slid the mug toward Jill then began to stir her own cocoa. “This town is gossipy, but it’s also very protective of Rick. They’ve known him since he was a little boy. Everyone’s proud of him, but they know he doesn’t appreciate the notoriety, so they respect his privacy and stay out of his way when he comes home.”
Fascinating. Jill struggled to reconstruct the initial image she’d had of Rick when she first arrived in Morgan’s Grove. He was nice enough, that first day on the porch, but distant. She’d sensed in him from the beginning a slight suspicion of her, a hesitancy. When Rick first saw Jill, a complete stranger in his grandmother’s house, he was understandably leery.
“This town is a sanctuary for Rick. He’s safe here,” Lucille explained. “He hates the press, detests the spotlight. He gave one interview for Forbes’ ‘Top Entrepreneur of the Year’ or some such, but after that, he kept to himself. When he got hounded by the media and even criticized by some, he retreated back to Morgan’s Grove. Decided he didn’t want any part of the fame. He almost sold the company, backed out altogether. But Mark convinced him to stay. Still, Rick stopped giving interviews, and even now, he goes out of his way not to be photographed. He lets Mark be the voice and face of Quantum.”
Rick hates the press. Jill’s face flushed hot as she realized she was keeping a secret of her own and how it might look now, under the newly revealed circumstances. Her entire time in Morgan’s Grove, she hadn’t told anyone—including Rick and Lucille—about the article she was writing for an online magazine. Though it was harmless to him, Jill wasn’t sure whether Rick would see it that way, even if Jill wasn’t technically the press.
He’s safe here. Jill had been living under his grandmother’s roof, getting to know both of them well. But he might view it through a different lens if he knew the truth.
“What’s the matter, dear? You’ve gone absolutely pale,” Lucille said.
“Can we postpone the cocoa for a minute?”
Jill was already halfway to the back door.
“Of course. But I don’t understand...” Lucille said.
Jill opened the door and found Rick at the back fence with a pile of branches cradled in his arms.
“Can you come in for a second?” she called. “I need to talk to you.”
He paused with the branches then walked them over to a nearby pile and cast them down. “Sure.”
In the few seconds it took for Rick to approach the kitchen, Jill frantically searched her brain for the right phrases she could use to explain, to make him understand.
Rick joined Lucille on one side of the island, and Jill planted herself at the other side in order to face them together. “I’ve been talking to your grandmother about Quantum...”
“I was filling her in with the details,” Lucille explained.
“Right, about how you don’t like the press and you prefer to be out of the spotlight,” Jill continued. She clasped her hands together on top of the island and realized her palms were clammy. “Well, I have something I need to tell you. But please hear me out.”
The confusion in Rick’s eyes sharpened.
“When I arrived in Morgan’s Grove, I told you both that I write novels. And I do. I make my living from them—they’re my main source of income. But there’s another writing project I’ve been working on recently. Sort of freelance.” She swallowed, hoping she could get the words out before they both jumped to all the wrong conclusions. “My friend owns an online magazine called Lifestyle Today. And part of the reason I’m here in town is to write an article for it.”
“Oh dear,” Lucille whispered from across the island.
“But—” Jill made a halting gesture in the air between them. “It’s not what you think. I promise.”
“You’re a journalist?” Rick whispered, his tone even.
“Let her explain.” Lucille gripped Rick’s sleeve.
“No, I’m not a journalist. I’m a novelist. But I worked for this magazine years ago, right out of college, only for a bit. And as a favor to my friend, Miranda, I still write occasional articles for them. It’s a good, decent magazine, Rick. It only focuses on human-interest stories and uplifting pieces. Their goal is to inspire and to educate.”
“This article,” Rick said, his voice growing stronger. “What’s it about?”
“That’s what I need to explain.” Jill could feel her pulse racing inside her temples. She had to make him see that she wasn’t the enemy. “My assignment was genealogy, so I did an online search and found out about my ties to Morgan’s Grove.”
“So that part is real.” Rick’s stare was unblinking.
“Of course it’s real. I’ve never lied to you. Just like you, there was a huge part of my life that I was holding back.”
“Why did you hide the article?” Rick asked.
“I needed room and space to do my research. You saw what happened when people started finding out about my novels. I was peppered with questions. And then, when everyone discovered my connection to the Stouts—well, that’s the first question on their lips now. And if they’d known I was writing an article, they’d either be hounding me to be part of the article, or they might be suspicious. Like you. It would change the way they looked at me.” She softened her voice, pled with her eyes. “Rick, this article was only meant as a human-interest story about me. I came here to see the town for myself, research my family’s history, and get some inspiration. I’ve been making notes and brainstorming ideas, but I haven’t even written the piece yet. I’ve been in research mode.”
“All this time,” Rick said, “you’ve been gathering material, watching all of us, living here at my grandmother’s house, getting to know us.”
Jill flashed backward to the night before, wedged up alongside Rick in that cramped closet during the tornado. “But it’s not like that.” She looked Rick straight in the eyes, unblinking too. “I can see how this looks, which is why I’m telling you about it now. I never came here to do a story about you. I didn’t even know you were Patrick Wright until an hour ago. This article is about me and my heritage. I haven’t been spying on you. I can show you all my notes upstairs and prove it to you.”
Rick pushed away from the island, shaking his head. “I need some air.”
He walked silently to the back door, and Jill winced in advance, expecting a terse slam to go with it. But he clicked the door shut with a quiet, gentle touch, which was almost worse.
Jill returned her gaze to Lucille, and they stood in silence as they heard the garage gears grinding and Rick’s engine being brought to life. Through the window, Jill caught a glimpse of his truck backing away. The fact that she was the source of his pain—misunderstanding or not—made her stomach drop to her knees. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Lucille reached far across the island and clamped onto Jill’s hand with her own. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You explained everything perfectly. This is all one big mix-up. He’ll see that too.”
Jill felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She should’ve known Lucille would be completely understanding. She only hoped, in time, that Rick would be, too.