Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (4 page)

Biting her lower lip, she twisted the lock and pulled the door open a few cautious inches. There stood a pleasant-looking, thirty-something woman with honey blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail and a plate of large brownies in her hands.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Lucy Branigan. I live right across the street. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Grace willed the adrenaline in her system to return to its holding tank. “Uh…thanks. I’m Grace.”

What now? Should she invite her in? She would never do such a thing back home, but then people there didn’t generally appear at a stranger’s door wielding baked goods. This was a different world.

She took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”

Lucy and her sunny disposition stepped inside and looked around. “Sure looks different. I guess the real estate agency thinks no one has an imagination. White, white, white. Reminds me of the hospital.”

“Yes.” Grace forced a casualness she wanted to believe. “It’s very healing.”

Lucy chuckled with a friendly, Kate Hudson kind of lilt. “Oh, these are for you.” She handed over the plate as if she were presenting an award.

Grace inhaled the chocolaty aroma, remembering that she hadn’t eaten in a while. The tension in her shoulders eased. It might be nice to have a woman to talk to. “Why don’t you stay and have one? I could make some coffee.”

Lucy smiled. “Anything to keep me away from my pile of laundry. The glamorous life of the American housewife.”

They moved to the kitchen. Grace’s nerves pinched at her sparse furnishings. “I’d offer you a chair, but…”

“It’s okay.” Lucy waved a dismissive hand and leaned against the wall where a table would go if there was one. “When does your stuff arrive?”

“Actually,” Grace went to the sink and filled her camping saucepan with what she hoped would make two cups of Nescafé. “My ‘stuff’ arrived when I did. I didn’t bring much.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s tone dropped, then lifted. “Well, lucky you. You get to buy everything new.”

“Uh huh.” Grace’s hands started to sweat as she put the pan on the burner. How could she lie to this nice woman? She had no interest in filling this house with a lot of stuff. As far as she was concerned, it was just a place to stay while her life sorted itself out. “I can’t do too much though.” Did she sound casual enough?

“I hear you. Everything costs.” Lucy’s face brightened like a follow spot. “Our church is having a huge rummage sale this Saturday. I’ll bet you could find everything you need there.”

A rummage sale? Was she kidding? Grace swallowed a laugh. “That sounds like fun.”

Lucy beamed as she stepped over to the counter and removed the saran wrap from the brownies. “So, have you decided on a color scheme?”

“A what?” Grace picked up her Nescafé jar. “Sorry I don’t have any real coffee.”

“No problem. You’re not leaving it white, are you?”

Grace set the small cup from the camping kit next to the Montana mug the bank had given her for opening her account. “No, I…I mean I haven’t really thought about it.” She plopped a spoonful of brown crystals into each vessel. “I’m not much of a decorator.” She bit her lower lip. She was actually much better at decorating than she was at lying. She’d have to get better at rearranging the truth if she expected this to work.

“Really?” Lucy turned, her ponytail snapping like a flag. “I’m kind of a Martha Stewart wannabe, if you’d like any help.”

“Great.” Just what she needed, Montana’s answer to Adrienne Neff.

“It would be a good way for us to get better acquainted.” Lucy looked around, grabbing a couple of paper towels off a roll that sat on the counter. “Besides, now that my kids are getting older, I have time. And who couldn’t use a creative outlet?”

Grace’s stomach twisted. The idea that decorating a house in a middle-of-nowhere town where she had no desire to live could even come close to qualifying as a creative outlet made her eyes sting. Forcing a weak smile, she poured the bubbling water into the cups. “Coffee’s ready. Such as it is.”

Lucy traded a brownie on a towel for the mug. “Smells delicious. My husband prefers instant so that’s all I ever buy. I guess we have something in common.”

Grace smiled tightly, then took a sip of the bitter brew. Lucy seemed nice, but it was improbable that the two of them shared very much in common.

“Oh, I’d better warn you.” Lucy took a drink, making a pleased face. “The young single guys in town are going to be clamoring to meet you.”

“Great.” Grace cringed involuntarily. Just what she needed—a bunch of cowhands with bouquets of wilted daisies stepping over each other to ask her to the town dance.

“Don’t worry.” Lucy must have picked up on her sarcastic tone. “My baby brother is ten years younger than me—probably about your age. He’s been friends with all these guys since we were kids. I’ll let you know which ones are worth the bother.”

Grace offered up a feeble smile. ‘Bother’ would be an understatement. What she didn’t need was a romance to muddy up her life right now. That was absolutely, without question, the last thing on her mind.

Chapter 6

Eager to get this day off to a better start than the one previous, Grace settled into a booth at the Country Kitchen, Main Street’s equivalent of the Carnegie Deli. She’d given herself an attitude check before setting out that morning. All she needed was to find a sense of purpose here while she waited it out. She’d be just fine.

With a heartening inhalation, she flipped open her copy of the local paper. She puckered her brow. Were they kidding? The
Madison Falls Gazette
was so puny, the ads from the
New York Times
would have laughed at it.

She flipped through it, easily locating a scrawny column of want ads.

“Coffee, honey?” A waitress straight out of
Alice
approached her table.

“Thanks.” Grace smiled as the liquid promise of a better day flowed into her cup.

“You must be the new girl in town.” The waitress nodded toward the paper. “Looking for work?”

“I think so.” Grace smiled wanly.

“You’re in luck if you’d like to waitress. We could use some help.”

Grace gulped, hoping for some better options. “Oh, I would never do
that
.”

“Oh?” The woman put a hand on her hip and looked down her nose.

Warmth flooded Grace’s cheeks. Her tone must have betrayed her repulsion at the woman’s suggestion. “I mean, it seems so hard. I just don’t think I could do it.” She gave her menu a quick go-over. “I’ll have a spinach and cheese omelet and country potatoes, please.”

The waitress firmed her jaw as she grabbed the menu and walked away.

Great way to start the day.

Grace really hadn’t meant to offend the woman, but she had always considered that type of job to be subservient. She was used to being doted over. Now she felt terrible. And a little afraid to eat that omelet.

She looked at the mug in front of her with renewed hope. Could her quest for a decent cup of coffee culminate here at the Country Kitchen? She lifted the cup and inhaled, prolonging the anticipation, then let some of the liquid slip between her lips.

Her mouth pursed. Had she been in an appropriate social setting, she would have spit it out. How was it possible that this could be even worse than the coffee at the bakery? And how could all the other diners consume it without gagging? Didn’t these people know mud when they tasted it?

She plunked the cup back down, letting out a loud breath. Her disappointment as bitter as the coffee, she turned her attention back to the want ads.

Gas station attendant
. Not in her wildest dreams.
Dental hygienist
. Not likely.
Floral designer
. Now that seemed promising.
Must have three years floral experience
. She’d received five or six years’ worth of opening night bouquets. Would that count?

Heaving an uneasy sigh, she set down the ads. She’d better find something, and not just to keep her mind occupied. Who knew how long she’d be stuck here?

Too bad she didn’t have unlimited funds, like Kirk, so she wouldn’t have to work. Of course if that were the case, she’d just hire someone to protect her.

She huffed out a sigh, wanting nothing more than to forget about him. Why did he still permeate her thoughts? Would the day ever come when she could just live her life free of him?

As the bell over the door jingled, her gaze lifted and her heart all but stopped. In strutted a man in tight-fitting Levis and a muscle T-shirt. He paused just inside the door to peruse the place as if making sure his entrance had been noticed. He looked right at Grace and for a split second, in spite of the casual attire, she could have sworn it was Kirk.

She gaped, too stunned to look away. It wasn’t Kirk, she saw that now, but he had the same James Dean swagger and carefully coifed sandy blond hair. The same air of self-importance.

He swaggered in, straddled a stool at the counter, and whistled to the waitress as if she were a cocker spaniel.

Grace breathed deeply, telling herself she was safe. It was just a weird coincidence coupled with her heightened awareness of her own personal danger zone.

The bell jingled again and she held her breath.
Oh no.
Was she doomed to run into Sam everywhere she went? What were the odds that they’d both choose the same place for breakfast two mornings in a row? She grabbed the paper, pulling it up close to her face and praying he wouldn’t try to sit with her. Could she pretend to be waiting for someone? Could she be any more pathetic?

She glanced up again and their eyes met.
Terrific
.

He flashed a reticent smile before stepping toward the counter. He stopped, his eyes fixed on the James Dean/Kirk look-alike. The man flicked him a cocky sneer, and Grace thought for a second she might witness her first ever diner brawl. Sam lingered a moment before slipping into a seat near the window.

Her shoulders fell. Her emotions had been so manipulated during the past two years that her sensors must need a tuning. Why should she feel disappointed that he hadn’t tried to sit with her?

“Here you go, honey.” The waitress returned with an omelet the size of Central Park. “See,” she winked. “That wasn’t so hard. Need a warm-up?”

Grace glanced at her still-full cup. “No. Look, I really didn’t mean—”

“Not to worry.” The woman shifted her weight onto one foot, clasping the rim of the coffee pot. “Waitressing isn’t for everybody. It takes a special sort of skill. You kind of reminded me of that. It’s funny how God sends us messengers just when we need them. I was having a real bad morning and you helped me remember my calling.”

“Your calling?” Grace said, unconvinced that God would actually use
her
as a messenger.

“Sure.” The waitress’ face looked brighter than it had just minutes before, when she’d seemed to want to stomp on Grace’s toes. “It might not seem very noble, but a good meal served with a smile is a gift I can give people every day. I’m where I’m supposed to be.” She grinned and crossed to the window. “Morning, Sam.”

Grace’s thoughts staggered. It hadn’t ever occurred to her that someone could find that kind of meaning in a service job. She had always thought you were either called to do something lofty and significant or you settled for earning a living.

Mechanically, she lifted her cup with both hands, taking a sip she barely tasted, as the waitress and Hardware Boy exchanged a laugh. She drew in a deep breath to keep from choking up.

She looked again at the man who wasn’t Kirk and remembered how it felt to be where she was supposed to be. Would she ever get to feel that way again?

Chapter 7

Sated from the best breakfast she’d eaten in a very long time, Grace commenced with the Plan B she had developed while forcing down her second cup of morning mud. Forget about the skimpy want ads. She’d walk around town to scout for Help Wanted signs. It was either that, or take a quick correspondence course in dental hygiene.

Stepping out onto Main Street, she surveyed her prospects. With so many little businesses in town, there had to be something interesting she could do.

She walked slowly, peering into the shop next to the café. She was in luck already. A bright orange sign announced that they were 'Now Hiring.’ Optimism surged until her eye caught an image in the lower corner of the front window. She balked at the yellow outline of a man running in winged helmet and heels, with one arm strewn behind him and a bouquet of roses clutched in his outstretched hand. Her shoulders drooped. Too bad she hadn’t pursued floral arranging in her spare time.

She gave herself a mental pep talk. If she wanted something badly enough, she just had to focus. That had always worked for her in the past, why should this be any different?

Standing on the curb and looking across Mountainview Avenue, her curiosity was piqued by the building on the other side. From this angle, it looked like a long, narrow garage, but the square facade in the front gave it the look of a set from a John Ford western.

Intrigued, she crossed the street.

The front of the building was prettier than she’d thought from a distance. The upper portion consisted of horizontal wood planks with a window squared in the center. The bottom half was made up of soaring display windows which angled into the central narrow double doors. It looked a little weather-worn—nothing a coat of paint and an extended squeegee couldn’t remedy. A sign in the lower corner of one of the large panes stirred her hope until she got close enough to read it. 'For Lease.’ Her hope faded.

Still, the building captured her interest. She cupped her hands and peered through the hazy glass.

A long counter extended the length of a large room, and she scooted closer to get a better look at the ornate antique cash register that sat on the end near the window. She breathed out awe. That thing must be worth a mint.

Charming fishbowl light fixtures hung at regular intervals from long rods, adding emphasis to what the New York real estate market would refer to as a cathedral ceiling and charge a king’s ransom for.