At Home in His Heart (9 page)

She spoke softly. “Keith left a big hole in both our lives, didn’t he?”

Bryce folded his muscled arms. Nodded. “He did at that.”

“I’m sorry you lost your best friend.” That had to have been hard on him. Had to still be hard. “Keith always said he was closer to you than to either of his real brothers. He cared about you, Bryce.”

“I know he did.”

They stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts as they listened to the raised voices echoing from an open window of the city hall chamber above—reminding her that the outcome of tonight’s decision could seal the museum’s fate. She should call an emergency meeting of the historical society. Brainstorm strategies, fundraisers. Prepare for the worst. She couldn’t let the museum go down without a fight.

But she’d do nothing tonight.

“I need to get going. I left Gina with a babysitter.” She turned away.

“May I walk you to your car?”

The earnestness in his voice halted her and she again faced him. “Thanks, but that’s my car right over there.”

Their eyes met again. Held.

“Then good night, Sandi.”

“Good night, Bryce.”

She tightened her grip on her keys and moved away, uncertain as to how to deal with seeing Bryce in a different light. With acknowledging his loss. With not yet knowing how much he knew of her last encounter with her husband.

What he thought of her. Really.

And why what he thought should matter so much to her anyway.

“I
thought for sure by now you’d have Bryce Harding wrapped around your little finger. Would have wooed him with your feminine charms to call off the rent increase.”

Heat flooded Sandi’s face at Cate Landreth’s loud remark—made in front of a Saturday-afternoon gathering of a dozen historical society members. Crowded around the museum’s kitchen table, they all turned to her with renewed interest. Thank goodness Bryce’s grandma rarely attended the meetings and didn’t hear any of this. But she couldn’t help but imagine her friend Meg would find it funny—suitable revenge for when Sandi had joined in with Cate last fall in mercilessly teasing Meg about Joe Diaz only a few days after she’d met him.

“Very funny, Cate.” She managed a fairly normal-sounding laugh as she met the roomful of curious gazes. Just what she needed. Half the town watching her every move and speculating on her love life—with Bryce of all people.

“Let’s deal with reality here, folks. As I said, I got a personal call early this morning from Councilman Jake Talford that the city is indeed severing our support. He assures me that when there’s strong economic recovery, the council will revisit the issue. But for the time being…”

She stood, popped the lid off a red dry-erase marker and
turned to the glossy whiteboard on the easel behind her. Drawing a small circle in the middle, she labeled it “museum future,” then drew a dozen or so lines radiating from it.

“What’s that?” an elderly man in overalls and a cowboy hat demanded. “I ain’t got no time for art lessons.”

“Not art lessons, Earl. We’re going to brainstorm. Put our heads together and see what we can come up with to generate more income. We need to determine where we can best focus our talents and energy.”

He scoffed. “I vote for you focusing your talents and energy on that Harding fellow. Less work for the rest of us.”

Everyone laughed, and again a wave of warmth washed through her. She forced a laugh. “Not an option, Earl.”

“Party pooper.”

“Okay now, let’s get started so I can keep my promise to get you out of here in an hour. So Cate, you’ve helped with fundraisers for years. What are a few you’d recommend?”

Basking in the spotlight, Cate sashayed around the table and took the marker from Sandi’s hand. “Bake sale. Car wash. Selling candles and chocolate bars. Oh, and can’t forget the popcorn. That caramel-and-peanut kind goes over big.”

She printed her suggestions at the end of half a dozen spokes on the board, then sat down.

A hand raised. “At Christmas the PTA sells homemade tamales. Maybe we could make enchiladas. Have people preorder them. Or have a taco bar at the softball games.”

“Navajo tacos would be even better,” another chimed in, and Sandi’s inner eye flew to the puffy, plate-size dough traditionally prepared over an open flame and topped with a variety of mouthwatering options. “We could do the honey-with-powdered-sugar ones. Or the beef-and-beans kind.”

Sandi nodded and wrote down the ideas, relieved that the focus was off her love life. More hands shot up.

“Pancake breakfast.”

“Fun run. Fish fry.”

“Fajita cook-off.”

“Horseshoe tournament,” Earl threw in, getting into the spirit of things.

She drew more lines radiating from the circle and wrote as fast as she could. “These are great ideas, keep them coming.”

Twenty minutes later the whiteboard was overflowing, words cramped into tiny print and squashed sideways into the margins. She stepped back and viewed their handiwork.

“Isn’t this awesome? Great work.”

A round of applause filled the little room.

She promised to transcribe the mess on the board and send it to everyone for review prior to their next meeting. With Independence Day only three weeks away, they had a lot of work ahead of them.

When the last society member departed, Sandi gathered her things, removed the whiteboard from the easel and let herself out the back door, eager to pick up Gina from Meg’s. The membership had been more supportive, more enthusiastic than she’d anticipated once they’d gotten their focus off Cate and Earl’s plan for her to make a pass at Bryce. Interestingly, she’d not heard a peep of outright criticism of Bryce or his grandma from the membership, so they must be buying the story that Mae was in need of additional funds. It seemed a bit too coincidental, though, that this sudden need arose with her grandson’s return home.

At least none of the usual down-in-the-mouth detractors had shown up, which enabled the meeting to run more smoothly. No doubt she’d hear from them when they received the list from the brainstorming session and realized there would be work to do.

Arms full, she awkwardly locked up, trying not to smear the unwieldy dry-erase board. As she started down the back porch steps, she glimpsed Bryce and Mae approaching from
the driveway. He steadied his grandmother, then loped forward to take the whiteboard from her.

“You going to the car with this?” He held it out at arm’s length, as if trying to make sense of the jumbled text.

“What do you have here, dear?” Mae motioned to the board as she drew closer.

“Fundraiser ideas. The city’s trimming their budget—including historical society support.”

“Bryce told me. What can I do to help?”

Bryce’s brows lowered as he fixed a look on Sandi that spoke volumes.
Don’t even think of telling her she can ditch the rent increase.

“We haven’t decided which projects will give the greatest returns, but I’m optimistic we’ll make that decision shortly. I think there will be a number of things you can assist with. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Mae smiled at her with concern-filled eyes. “I hope you’re not overdoing it at the museum this summer. I see your car out here more often than it should be. You need to take a break. Take some time for yourself.”

“Fortunately, I don’t require a lot of ‘me’ time.”

“It’s healthy to get out and have some fun.”

“Gina and I are sleeping over at her grandma’s tonight, so no cooking on my part. That’s a welcome break.”

“An evening with a mother-in-law isn’t what I had in mind. You need to get out with young folks. Relax and enjoy adult conversation. Bryce is going to a cookout with friends next Saturday. You should join him.” She looked up at her grandson expectantly.

Sandi met his gaze with alarm. Was Mae trying to be nice—or setting them up? She hated setups. Had been dodging them for years since Keith’s death. People meant well, but relationships couldn’t be forced. She had to have more in common with a man than merely both being single.

He cleared his throat and his gaze flickered from his grandma to her again. “You’d be welcome to come along. They said I could bring a friend.”

A friend. As in a date. No, thank you.

“Thanks for the invitation, but I have so much going on right now.”

“Which is exactly why you should go.” Mae patted her arm. “Your summer will be over before you know it.”

It
would
be nice to get out on more than a playdate with other mothers. To think about something other than museum business. But she’d always felt guilty leaving Gina with a sitter more often than necessary.

“She’s wavering, Bryce.” Mae nodded at her grandson. “Convince her.”

Sandi’s eyes met his again, sensing his grandma was backing them both into a corner. “I appreciate the invitation, but—”

“She doesn’t want to go, Grandma.”

“Nonsense.” Mae’s chin jutted obstinately.

“Back in a minute, Gran.” Bryce stepped between Sandi and his grandmother. Then motioning toward the little graveled parking lot, he herded Sandi in that direction like a cowboy rounding up strays.

Uncomfortably conscious of the big man accompanying her, she strode to her car and opened the back door so he could place the whiteboard inside.

“Sorry about that, Sandi.”

She didn’t have to ask what he was referring to.

“But she’s right, you know.” He opened the driver’s-side door and she slipped into the bucket seat, then turned to look up at him. “You deserve some fun.”

He glanced at the ground. Scuffed a tennis shoe-clad toe in the cinder rock. “So, you know, if you change your mind, just give me a call. Invitation still stands.”

“I appreciate that. But summer’s only begun and it’s filled with work, friends and family.” With a smile she reached for
the car door handle. “And surely you haven’t forgotten that this
is
a small town. I think we’d both agree showing up together would imply more things to your friends than you’d want implied.”

He shrugged. “I can handle it. Never put much stock in what people have to say about me.”

“Lucky you. As a widowed woman I find myself all too often the source of unwelcome speculation. I have to be constantly on my guard to protect my—”

“Reputation?”

Heat flooded her face as the insensitivity of her words belatedly struck her. As if being seen with him—a man with his sullied background—would sink her upright, pristine standing in the community.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t.” He gave a self-deprecating smile and stepped back. “Have a good rest of your day, Sandi.”

With a casual wave he turned away.

Mortified, she stared at his retreating back. Watched as he bent to speak to his grandma, then slipped an arm around her waist and helped her to the stairs leading to her apartment. How could she have spoken like that, so tactlessly, without even thinking how it might come across?

She momentarily squeezed her eyes shut, then pulled the car door closed and started the engine.

Please, God, forgive me. Will I never learn to think before I speak?

“I wasn’t trying to set you up with her, Bryce.” With an aggrieved sigh at his accusation, Grandma Mae headed to the tiny living area just off the kitchen that did double duty as Bryce’s sleeping quarters. She eased down on the upholstered sofa. “I’m concerned about her.”

He lowered himself into a nearby recliner, Sandi’s words about guarding her reputation still stinging. In the past he’d
have laughed it off. He’d never much cared what people thought about him, one way or another. Why was this any different?

Grandma straightened a plush throw pillow, then fixed him with an accusing eye. “When are you going to tell her and the historical society about the remodeling plans?”

He scratched his bearded jawline with a knuckled hand. “No point in alarming everybody just yet. I’m checking out the home supply places to estimate the cost plus labor for anything I can’t do myself. When that firefighter position opens up I won’t have much free time, so likely won’t be doing it all myself.”

Which meant more money. But it was still cheaper than buying a new house.

Grandma reached for her crochet basket. “What happens if the job doesn’t come through? Do you plan to stick around Canyon Springs and work odd jobs until you’re my age?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He gave her a confident smile, unwilling to admit the possibility had already occurred to him. Concerned him. “It’ll work out. God’s timing, isn’t that what you always say? I’m settling into civilian life, getting reacquainted with the town. Joining up with the fire department will be like reenlisting. My time won’t be my own. So this is a good break. God only knows I needed it.”

Grandma pulled out her crochet hook and a skein of pumpkin-colored yarn. “You’ve seen a lot of things in your young life that most people hope never to see.”

He nodded, memory flickering to the heat. The cold. The grittiness. The odors. The fear. Death. He plucked at the fabric on the arm of his chair. “I know Grandpa did a stint in the army, but why’d you let me join, Gran? Even encouraged it.”

“I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“It was because of Jenn, wasn’t it?” He never called his mother by anything but her given name. “I was letting her turn me into an angry young man on a fast journey to nowhere.”

“You were at that.”

He rubbed his thumb along an upholstery welt. He didn’t like thinking about his mother. Talking about her. “Have you heard from her lately?”

“Postcard from L.A. in April.”

“She’s still messed up, isn’t she?”

“Drugs change a person.”

And bad company corrupts. The combination was as destructive as war. “Are you ever mad at God, Grandma? That he let this happen to her? To us?”

Goodness knows his grandparents had done their best. Grandpa had discovered Canyon Springs on an elk hunting trip and talked Grandma into resettling here, far away from the temptations of city life in Cleveland, Ohio. Jenn was fourteen then and already heading down the wrong path.

A change of scenery didn’t do one lick of good.

Grandma shook her head, concentrating on securing the crochet hook in her gnarled fingers. “Jenn made bad choices despite her upbringing. Continues to make them. Being mad at God is a waste of time, don’t you think? He’s our only hope that someday her eyes will be opened before it’s too late.”

She shifted to a more comfortable position, her keen gaze now fixed on him. “What about you? Are you mad at God because of her? Because you don’t know who your father is? I honestly don’t think she knows, Bryce. I believe with all my heart that she’d tell you if she knew.”

His jaw tightened. “Probably better not to know and risk hating him.”

“Like you hate your mother?”

“I don’t hate her, Gran.” But he had for a lot of years—or had tried to. Until God got hold of him.

Grandma set her crochet work aside, her eyes filled with love and concern. “I’ve long feared Jenn’s overbearing, unreliable disposition may have colored your perceptions of women. That that’s why you’ve never found one to commit to.”

His mind flashed to Sandi and the unreasonable demands
she’d put on Keith. Do this. Don’t do that. Sit. Speak. Shake. Roll over.

In spite of himself, he smiled and settled more deeply into the recliner, forcing himself to relax. “I can’t say that I’m not overly sensitive to, shall we say, women with dictatorial inclinations.”

A knowing look glistened in Grandma Mae’s eyes. “You know God’s going to send you a strong-willed woman to partner with for a lifetime, don’t you? One who’ll challenge you, keep you on your toes. Who won’t let you get away with anything. Mark my words, that’s the kind of woman that will make you happiest.”