Heath's Hope (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 5) (3 page)

And if all that hadn’t happened, he’d never have married and buried Aimee in less than a year. His mentor’s sweet daughter had had a crush on him for as long as he’d been studying with Foster Garrett. Though Heath had never encouraged her, he’d even been flattered. At twenty-one, he’d viewed Aimee as a child, despite the fact that she was only three years younger. If she hadn’t gotten sick, she would have gotten over him and moved on.

But she did get sick, and when Foster and Isabel had found out how little time their daughter had left, they’d come to him and begged him to just give her what she wanted and make her happy for a few months.

And he’d thought, why the hell not? He’d lost Hope and he owed Foster everything. Why not make Aimee happy? Because, really, nothing mattered. And what Aimee wanted was to get married. So he’d stood up in a church, made promises he didn’t mean, and poured all his grief and frustration into the angel panels that had made him famous. And he’d helped a sweet girl die.

It sounded a lot more romantic than it had been. There wasn’t much romance in holding a dishpan to catch the vomit that ineffectual chemo produced.

In truth, tonight he felt worse than he had the day they put Aimee in the ground. And why not? He had given Aimee nothing but kindness, and tonight was the first time in his life that he could ever remember deliberately trying to hurt someone.

He’d done a fine job of it, too.

Cheers broke out from the other side of the shop.

“Heath,” Lawrence called, “we’ve got a winner. They want a picture with you and the jack-o’-lantern.”

Of course they did. Everyone had cell phones and everyone wanted a picture. Why couldn’t he have lived and practiced his art during the Renaissance, when there were no phones, no cameras, and no Hope?

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Neyland pulled up to the entrance of Beauford’s small hospital.

“No,” Hope said. “You’ve already served your time here today. But thank you for making me come out for a while.”

But Hope was not thankful. She should have never gone to that festival, should have never let that jack-o’-lantern draw her to Spectrum’s front window.

Heath had looked good. Even if his eyes had looked mean, his thick, tawny hair was still carelessly pushed behind his ears. The jeans and open flannel shirt over a T-shirt could have been the same ones he’d worn in college. His tall frame had filled out, leaving him with the strong, capable body of a man.

 And right above the collar of that shirt was that soft, sweet place halfway between his ear and collarbone. She could still remember how warm it had felt when she’d rested her face there and how that spot had tasted when she’d wanted anything but rest. But those were bad decisions under the bridge.

Always nearly impossible to read, Heath was still stingy with his smiles, and he liked to keep his eyes to himself—though she doubted if he would have had a smile for her even if he’d had a naturally open and sunny disposition.

A man had taken over his face and chased away any traces of boyishness, and she mourned that. She’d loved that boy—but she did not like this man, even if she’d had a hand in his creation. That boy might have put away the jack-o’-lantern, maybe even broken it, but he would have never given it away for the sole purpose of hurting her. Inasmuch as he’d always been quiet and stoic to the point of solemn, Heath had always exuded kindness and a calm sprit where a person could find peaceful rest. How had he gotten so bitter?
How, indeed?
Something told her that was a question she shouldn’t dwell on overmuch.

Never, ever had she known him to be deliberately cruel, like he’d been tonight. After all this time, it shouldn’t matter, but it had left her with a sore and weary heart.

“So when do you think you’ll be going back to Charlotte?” Neyland brought her back to the present.

The sooner the better.
“I left my ticket open-ended, but I’m planning on tomorrow.”

“That soon?” Neyland looked confused. “Aunt Polly said you were taking a leave of absence from work.”

“No. When she called me, we didn’t know what was going to happen and she asked if I
could
take a leave of absence. I told her I could, if there was a need, but there isn’t. Daddy will be in the hospital until he’s transferred to rehab. When he comes home, I might need to come back and help out for a few weeks.” That sounded good, but right now, she really wanted to run to the other side of the world and never come back.

Neyland nodded. “I misunderstood. I thought you were going to be here for at least a month and it was a done deal.” She laughed. “In fact, I told Noel you might want to move into her old apartment above Piece by Piece. We love our parents, but I think you and I are of the same mind about living with them.”

“You’ve got that right. Though, if I do need to come and help with Daddy, I would probably need to stay with him and Mama. But I appreciate your looking out for me.”

“Sure thing. I’ll tell Noel I was mistaken. Gabe plays Monday night this week, so I can take you to the airport tomorrow.” Gabe Beauford played pro ball for the Nashville Titans.

 “That would be great. After I talk to Mama and Daddy, I’ll book my flight and let you know the time.” Hope gave her cousin a brief hug and waved as she drove away.

Most people hated hospitals, but Hope didn’t. She liked the order, the quiet, and the cleanliness. She supposed even tiny Beauford General had its share of chaos and trauma, but she’d never seen any of it. Here, she’d been held up to the nursery window to see her newborn cousin Todd, and gotten lots of attention when she’d had her tonsils out. Even today, though it had been stressful and exhausting, Daddy had never been in any danger.

It was certainly a better place to be than in Heath Beckett’s presence, but that never had to happen to her again. This time tomorrow, she’d be safely back in Charlotte, and while it was unrealistic to think she could stay away from Beauford forever, she could avoid Heath.

Not wanting to startle her mother or wake her father, Hope lightly tapped on the door before stepping inside.

But she needn’t have worried about waking him. He was wide-awake, talking on his cell phone, barking orders from the sound of it, as her mother sat flipping through a magazine. He was a big, robust, healthy man, and the setting didn’t do much to diminish that.

“Oh, here she is. I’ll call you back,” her father said.

“Yes. Here she is. I hope I wasn’t gone too long.”

“Of course not.” Polly MacKenzie put down her magazine. “You needed to get out.”

Hope laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “How are you?”

“Oh. So-so. The pain meds help.” He covered her hand with his. “I can’t tell you, baby, how much I appreciate you. At least I don’t have to worry about the bank while I’m being held prisoner.”

“What?” That made no sense whatsoever. Hope had heard that, after surgery, sometimes people didn’t make sense.

“Not prison, Mac,” Polly said. “Rehab. And you’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“
Lucky
is not a word I would apply to myself right now,” Mac said. “Except that I have the most perfect daughter in the world.” He met Hope’s eyes. “I was on the phone with Greta Jo.” He named his longtime, long-suffering secretary. “She’s tidying up my desk so it will be ready for you Monday morning.”

No. Either Daddy was delusional, or she had stepped into an alternate universe. Must be the pain meds or the aftereffects of the anesthesia. Hope looked at her mother for help.

But Polly nodded in agreement. “We are so relieved that you agreed to take a leave of absence so you can help out.”

Oh, no. Oh, hell. Oh,
hell no!
They wanted her to run the
bank
! She had thought helping out meant helping nurse her father. Her head pounded. Or was it her heart? Hard to tell.

“I don’t know what I would have done,” Mac said.

She had to get out of this. “Oh, Daddy. You have competent staff. I don’t know anything about the bank.” She sounded lame and defeated, even to herself.

“No.” Mac shook his head. “You know banking. It’s in your blood. I do have a good staff, but they’re not family. What’s more, there’s been a MacKenzie in the big chair of Beauford Savings and Loan ever since the doors opened in 1940. I would have hated to leave that chair empty.”

Things began to click into place. Mac MacKenzie was a willful man. While he wouldn’t go so far as to break his leg on purpose—especially with deer season coming up—he was not above using what he had to get what he wanted, which was Hope working at Beauford Savings and Loan.

She’d been had. But Hope was nothing if not a realist. She’d never been one to fight a battle she wasn’t going to win.

So she pasted on a smile. “I’m glad to do what I can.”

“It means the world to us, darling,” Polly said.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”

She stepped into the hall and dialed her cousin’s number. “Neyland? Could you tell Noel I’m going to need that apartment after all?”

She might be stuck in Beauford, Tennessee, breathing the same air as Heath Beckett. She might be stuck at Beauford Savings and Loan where he probably kept his money.

But if she had a prayer of getting out with her sanity intact at all, she had to have some privacy and some space. It wasn’t much of a victory, but some days you had to take what you could get.

And today was turning out to be one of those days.

Hope had been at Beauford Savings and Loan for two days, but it had taken only about two hours for her to figure out that Mac MacKenzie had created a well-oiled machine that ran itself. Oh, she had to sign this, approve that, and attend a meeting here and there, but there were no broad, sweeping decisions to make—at least not for an interim president.

She was bored, but she’d already been through the mail, read a stack of month end reports, and approved leave for three employees. She opened her laptop and brought up Solitaire. With any luck, no one would guess what she was doing. She wasn’t much of an actress, but she’d never had to be. There was no time for Solitaire in Charlotte.

After a good, solid knock, Greta Jo Archer stepped through the door. She was frowning, which meant she disapproved of whatever had brought her here.

“Ms. MacKenzie—”

“Greta Jo.” Hope hurriedly closed her laptop. “You’ve known me all my life, and you’ve always called me Hope. Can we please get back to that?”

“With all due respect,
Ms. MacKenzie.”
Greta Jo gave her a hard stare worthy of Paddington Bear. “We must observe authority if we expect them to.” She gestured with her head in the direction of the door, though Hope had no idea if
them
meant the bank employees, customers, or the world at large. “We cannot let Mr. MacKenzie find his position devalued when he returns.”

It was clear who ran this joint, but Hope wondered if her father knew it.

“All right.” Why fight? She wouldn’t win. “What can I do for you, Greta Jo?”

Her frown deepened. “Sticky and Julia Stinson are asking to see you. They don’t have an appointment.”

Greta Jo did not approve of people without appointments.

“Send them in,” Hope said.

“Don’t you want me to at least find out the nature of their business?” That meant Greta Jo wanted to know the nature of their business.

“Send them in,” Hope repeated. “I’ll find out what they want when they get in here.” They probably were just stopping by to visit anyway, but Hope wouldn’t dare say that. Greta Jo would most definitely not approve of visiting on bank time.

“Hmm.” Greta backed out of the room.

Miss Sticky was the first in the room, and Hope stood to greet them. Miss Julia carried a stack of file folders, which meant this wasn’t a social call after all. At least it was something to do.

“Ladies.” Hope settled back into her chair. “Who’s minding the shop?”

Miss Sticky shrugged. “No one really.”

“Sticky! That isn’t true.” Miss Julia turned to look at Hope. “Vanessa MacKenzie and Lori Shelton are at the shop knitting. If anyone buys anything, they’ll make a note of it, and we’ll settle up later.”

Hope almost shuddered. Who did that? Left their shop in the hands of customers? Even if one of them was Hope’s aunt and the other the middle school coach’s wife, neither of whom would take so much as a needle that didn’t belong to them. Maybe she’d been in the big city too long. Still, she couldn’t imagine Noel and Neyland doing such a thing.
Or Heath.
She beat the thought back just like she had every time he’d tried to slip into her thoughts since their humiliating encounter on Halloween.

“Would you ladies like some coffee or iced tea?” Hope asked.

“Oh, dear me, no,” Miss Sticky said. “But tell us, how is your daddy?”

“He’s doing well, but thoroughly unhappy with his circumstances.”

“And your mama?” Miss Julia asked.

“Good. Daddy has finally convinced her he doesn’t need someone with him all the time, and they’re both better for it.”
And so am I.

“And we hear you’re living in Noel’s old apartment above Piece by Piece.”

“I am.” Her parents hadn’t been especially happy about that, but she’d stood her ground.

“We have always loved Noel,” Miss Sticky said. “We were afraid Nickolai was going to take her off to Nashville to live or, worse, sign up to play for some hockey team up north. It was a shame that Rachelle Mobley had to go into assisted living, but her house is perfect for Noel and Nickolai.”

“I don’t think it was a shame,” Julia said. “Rachelle was mean as a snake and twice as sneaky. I’m glad they’ve got that wonderful house. Nickolai’s a sweetheart. He comes by to see us almost every day.”

 “He is that,” Hope agreed. At least everyone said so. At one time, people had said that about Heath. “So, is there something I can do for the two of you today?”

Sticky looked at her hands. “This is hard. It’s tacky to talk about money.”

“Sticky! Get a grip. This is a bank. Hope’s a banker.” Miss Julia turned to Hope. “We need a loan. For five thousand dollars.”