Chapter 6
6
M imi Pendergrass, owner of the Heart Sent bed-and-breakfast, town mayor, head of a group called the Bleeding Hearts Society that helps the community and provides resources for those in need and for the betterment of the town.
Angelo “Pop” Benito formerly known as the Godfather of Magdalena. Earned title as the town’s advisor. Carries a lot of weight in Magdalena even though he has apparently handed over this title to Harry Blacksworth, a former Chicago businessman. Mr. Benito favors anise pizzelles, and anything Italian.
Harry Blacksworth, part owner of an investment company in Chicago. Owns a restaurant in Magdalena called Harry’s Folly. New Godfather of Magdalena. Married, three children.
Nate Desantro, owner of ND Manufacturing and woodworking company. Married to Christine, two children. Longtime resident of Magdalena, appears to have influence.
Christine Desantro, niece to Harry Blacksworth, married to Nate Desantro. Moved from Chicago. Investment advisor.
Daniel “Cash” Casherdon, former Philly policeman, works with Nate Desantro. Appear to be friends. Married to Tess, three children.
Nick Borado. Heir to the Borado fine clothing empire. Started his own casual clothing line which features the male residents in the catalog. Runs O’Reilly’s Bar and Grille with wife, Delilah O’Reilly Borado, former television personality who had her own talk show. Moved back to Magdalena after on-air scandal.
Sam perused the file, wondered where she’d gotten her intel and who determined its significance. Hope Newland had the basics, but if she were looking for details on the influencers? She was going to come up empty because unless she added more specifics like the fact that Harry Blacksworth was a dog lover and Cash Casherdon was Nate Desantro’s best friend? And Pop Benito never went by “mister” and was a lot more than the former Godfather of Magdalena. And saying Nate Desantro “appeared” to have influence was like saying Pop “appeared” to like pizzelles.
Sam might have been gone from the town for years, but his mother had filled him in on what happened, who was behind it, who helped the people out of their messes. If this woman believed people would start spitting out information like a slot machine, she could think again.
Sam flipped the page and began to read the businesses she’d listed as places of interest. Lina’s Café, Harry’s Folly, Sal’s Market...
“What are you doing?”
Sam glanced up as Hope Newland entered the room, grabbed the folder. “This is private.”
No mistaking the ticked and not happy tone in the woman’s voice. He backed away from the table, raised both hands. “Sure. Information gathering about the influencers in this town? Good luck. You’re a little short on the information.”
The woman clutched the folder to her chest, scowled. “Stop snooping.”
“Stop pretending you’re here to gather information about the town so you can open a bed-and-breakfast somewhere. I’m not buying it any more than I am your innocent act.” That seemed to annoy her more than catching him studying her folder.
“I am trying to gather information about the town for the purpose of emulating it for our own bed-and-breakfast communities.”
“Right.” Not buying it.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. In fact, I wouldn’t expect a cynic like you to believe someone’s just trying to do their job with no ulterior motive.”
The woman sure had an attitude of superiority and didn’t mind letting others know how inconsequential she found them. He’d known that type before, had married one of them. “Well, the cynic in me has been around long enough to witness people who say one thing and do the exact opposite.” Wasn’t that the truth?
“I’m sorry you have so many untrustworthy associates.” Those hazel eyes flashed, the scowl deepened. “I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my way and let me do my job.”
“I’d like to do that, but unfortunately I can’t, not until I’m certain you’re not here for any other reason than the one you presented.” There was a lot about this woman he didn’t know, a lot he didn’t trust, but he was going to vet her, and until he did, Sam planned to keep a close eye on what she did and who she talked to…
“My reasons for being here are exactly what I said they were.” She paused, tilted her head to the side. “But what about you? Didn’t you live in Chicago?”
He didn’t miss the tone in her voice that implied she knew why he’d come back home. So what if she knew? Let her straight-out ask. Did she have the guts to do it? Maybe he’d find out. “That’s right. I lived in Chicago.”
A raised brow and the faintest smile as she crossed her arms over her chest—a nice chest if he were looking and interested, which he wasn’t. “And now you’re back.”
“I am.”
“Interesting that you’d return to a small town like this where your options might be somewhat limited.”
Had Mimi told her about the falling out with his dad that had affected his ability to practice veterinary medicine the way he used to… before Chicago? This time, he was the one who raised a brow, took on a tone that said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about”. “Maybe, but my father has a practice, and it was always planned that I’d return and take over.” It had been the plan before Sam blew it up.
“I see. So, you’re taking over your father’s practice?”
She said it like she knew that it wasn’t a slam dunk. “That’s the plan.” It was the plan, and all he had to do was convince his father he was capable…trustworthy…loyal…
“Why are you staying at the Heart Sent if you’re from this town?”
Was that curiosity asking the question or did she already know and have her own suspicions? He’d give her this piece of truth and see what she did with it. “It’s kind of hard to live in a place that doesn’t have a working bathroom or a kitchen sink. I bought a place and I’m having it renovated. As for living in the house where I grew up… Same bedroom… Probably the same bedspread and posters?” He shook his head, blew out a loud sigh. “No thanks.”
Sam expected her to make a snide remark, but all she said was “I wouldn’t want to do that either.”
Her expression shifted from an air of superiority to one of dread. Huh. Maybe she did know what he was talking about. He didn’t have time to wonder about it before she bombarded him with point-blank questions that were none of her business. “Where’s your house? Is it in town or on the outskirts? Land or no land?”
“I thought you were only interested in the names in your file, and I’m not in your file.”
The faintest pink spread from her neck to her cheeks. “No, you’re not.” She frowned. “But maybe you should be.”
“Doubtful. You see, I don’t like people nosing around in my business—work or personal.” He planned to have a talk with Mimi to make sure she did not offer any more details about his life—business or personal.
A shrug, a dismissive “You don’t have to tell me anything. There’s a lot in what you’re not saying.”
The woman was goading him and he was not going to let her get to him. She thought she could find out about him? For what purpose? See if he’d offer information about Mimi or the other residents in town? Right, not happening. “Good luck. You let me know when you have my life figured out. I’ll be curious to see what you find.” If Sam hadn’t been able to figure out his life, how would an uptight stranger from the city be able to do it?
“I will.”
He could not resist the challenge. “Okay then. I’ll see you around and just so you know, I’m paying attention to everything you’re saying, but mostly what you’re not saying.”
Sam left the Heart Sent after his “conversation” with Hope Newland and didn’t return until almost ten o’clock. Tonight, his father had actually asked his opinion on a case: a five-year-old labrador retriever exhibiting signs of silent seizures. Okay, the guy had to have a plan, especially in regard to educating the owners on what to look for and how to react. Maybe he was testing Sam, checking out his ability to diagnose and work with the family. Or maybe it was his father’s attempt to start mending the mess their relationship had become. It didn’t matter; Sam would accept either one, and hopefully, there’d be more.
When he let himself into the Heart Sent, he shrugged out of his jacket and shoes, careful he didn’t make too much noise. He’d become an expert on arriving after Mimi closed up, and while she’d told him several times he could come and go as he pleased, he did not plan to take advantage of her generosity. Besides, there was another guest staying here, and he wanted to avoid a confrontation with her. Hope Newland had a lot of opinions and she didn’t need to say the words for Sam to understand he was not her favorite person. The woman had a damn file on the townspeople—only the important ones as she’d made sure to tell him. He wasn’t in it, and that was fine by him. He didn’t need some fancy sophisticate asking questions, seeking opinions, trying to find out about the town and by default, him .
There were enough other residents, some in her file, some not, who could list all of the reasons Magdalena was the place to be and how it could provide a wonderful life…family, kids, a dog or two. Sam could talk about the dogs if she asked; that was his area of expertise, even if his father had his doubts.
He moved toward the kitchen, thinking about the chocolate chip cookies Mimi had baked when he heard the faint off-key humming. Even if Mimi were still awake, she would not be humming a Journey song, and definitely not off-key.
When Sam reached the kitchen, his gaze settled on the source of the humming. Hope Newland stood at the stove, her back to him, head bent as she stirred a pot. Sam leaned against the door frame, took in the single braid, the tie-dyed T-shirt and gray sweatpants. And bare feet. Interesting visual and one he would not have expected. The humming continued, wrapped around him, and for the briefest moment, the dark hair, the slender neck, and curves reminded him of Celeste. How had his life gone so wrong? How had?—
Hope turned, gasped. “What are you doing here?” A frown followed by a sharp, “How long have you been standing there?”
Splashes of red seeped from her neck to her cheeks, spread to her forehead. The woman did not appreciate being caught like this—no pearls, no designer shirts, no makeup. Sam eased away from the doorframe, moved toward the open container of cookies on the counter, offered a tiny smile. “Long enough to hear your rendition of “Faithfully”.”
The raised brow and pinched lips said she did not appreciate that comment. “I didn’t realize I was being observed.”
His smile spread, his shoulders relaxed. “Observed? We’re not in a classroom. I was simply enjoying a few seconds of the unfiltered version of Hope Newland.” His gaze slid from the tie-dyed T-shirt to the gray sweats and bare feet.
A shrug, a prim, “Good manners dictate a person inform the other person when they’ve entered a room.”
“True, but I was more straddling the room at that point. Besides, who said I had manners?” She stared at him as if trying to decipher whether he was serious or toying with her. “Relax. The outfit suits you. Makes you more… approachable . Ever think of losing the buttoned-up image? I’ll bet a lot more people would talk to you if you did.” He lifted a chocolate chip cookie from the container, took a bite. “These are my favorite.”
Her expression relaxed the tiniest bit. “They are good. I couldn’t sleep so I decided hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies might do the trick.” Pause and a hesitant “Would you like some hot chocolate?”
That almost sounded like a kind gesture toward him. Huh. “Sure.” Sam turned and opened the refrigerator door, pulled out the milk and handed it to her. “Thanks.”
“It will just be a few minutes.” She kept her gaze on the milk as though uncomfortable with their late-night encounter.
“Do you cook?” The words fell out before he could yank them back. Strange, but she didn’t seem offended by the question.
“I do. I love to cook but I work a lot and it’s not fun to cook for one…so…”
Cooking for one. Did that mean she wasn’t in a relationship? Not with anyone in particular? “I see. Single? Divorced?” Not your business , his brain said, but it didn’t stop him from wondering.
She glanced at him and for the briefest second, he spotted what looked a lot like pain. “Alone.”
That could mean anything. Alone by choice? Alone by someone else’s choice? Alone because it didn’t work out? So many possibilities and none of them were his business. Do not venture into her personal space. Stay away. Not your business. “I get it. Trust me, I do.”
She did not look at him as she poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, handed him one. “Sometimes we think we know where we’re going and then the path changes and we have to find a new one. Not what we expected but who wants to jump off a cliff even if there’s a net below?”
Okay, somebody burned her. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“I see.” Her lips pulled into a faint smile. “Guess you don’t want to expand on that?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Good. Me neither.”
Now she really had him curious. Sam pointed to the table. “Care to sit and gorge on cookies and small talk?”
The smile inched wider. “Sure.” She grabbed the cookie container, set it on the table between them, and eased into a chair. “Darn, I forgot the plates. Sorry about that.” She moved to stand, but he stopped her.
“No need. It’s just us. I won’t tell Mimi if you don’t.”
She settled into her chair, eyed him. “Sort of like drinking from the orange juice container when no one’s watching?”
Was that a joke? He’d done it quite a few times, but he couldn’t picture this woman doing it. “Are you toying with me?”
A shrug and a coy “I’ll never tell.”
Sam plucked another cookie from the container, sipped his hot chocolate. “By the time I leave Mimi’s, my jeans won’t fit.” He laughed, studied the cookie in his left hand. “My scrubs probably won’t either, and they’re a loose fit.”
“I doubt that’s true.” Those hazel eyes shined with humor and a hint of curiosity. “How long do you plan to stay here? Or maybe I should ask how long it’s going to take to renovate your house?”
“Not soon enough.”
“So…did your parents want you to move back in with them?”
He didn’t miss the curiosity as though she didn’t understand what that would be like. “I told them what I planned to do before they could offer.” He lifted his mug, took another sip. “My parents love to offer critiques and suggestions if they think you’ve taken a wrong turn.” Sam set down his mug, blew out a deep sigh. “I just wasn’t up for them offering a play-by-play of my missteps and the necessary corrections according to Edgar and Joyce Harrington.”
“I wouldn’t like that either, but at least they care.” She paused, clutched the mug of hot chocolate and confided, “I don’t blame you for choosing this place over your parents’ house. I would have moved into a one-bedroom apartment before moving back in with my mother.”
Wow, there was some serious feeling in those words, not the touchy-feely, I-love-you-so-much kind either. “That bad, huh?”
The expression on her face said cringe and her words said never happening. “So much worse. My parents are both gone now and I’m an only child, so it’s not like I would have a home to go back to anyway.” She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated a few seconds before she continued. “My dad died when I was twelve. He went fishing, a storm came up…”
“I’m sorry.” His parents might annoy him, but he couldn’t imagine them being gone.
“Thank you. My mother never recovered from it. She shut down and became obsessed with keeping me safe and reworking my life. I wasn’t allowed to get in a car with anyone under thirty or babysit or go to the lake with friends or be a normal kid. The only reason she was okay with me going away to college was because according to her ‘the right college’ mattered.” Big sigh and a resigned, “It was all about working the plan she’d created for me, the one that provided success, protection, and lots of accolades.”
Wow, talk about a controlling mother. Hope Newland had just shown him another side of herself. Emotional. Sincere. Vulnerable. “No happiness tucked in there?”
A shake of her head, a quiet “Happiness for its own sake was frivolous and inconsequential, at least that’s what my mother claimed. If it were a side benefit from the other achievements, then it had merit and could be deemed acceptable.”
Sam tried to separate her feelings from her mother’s beliefs and when he couldn’t he asked, “But you don’t buy that nonsense…do you?” She’d grown very still, her face pale. “Hope? Do you believe happiness doesn’t count?”
The woman who’d become more of a mystery since the first time he met her, locked her gaze with his, eyes bright. “Sometimes I guess I do.” She bit her bottom lip, said in a soft voice, “It’s easier to protect yourself from getting hurt so you won’t be disappointed when the reality doesn’t meet your expectations.”
Boy, the mother sure messed her up. No wonder she hid under the buttoned-up persona. “I get that, but everybody deserves a shot at finding their own definition of happiness—not their parents’.”
“Is that what you did?”
He’d never heard anyone question the right to their own happiness and maybe that’s why he answered her. “I tried and I thought I’d found it, but all I did was buy into someone else’s vision of what I should want.” Oh yes, Celeste had laid it all out for him with her sultry voice and sophisticated style. And she’d been wrong, but he’d been more wrong to listen to her.
“I see. That sounds as bad as ignoring your right to be happy.”
It was actually much worse but he couldn’t admit that one to her, not when he could barely admit it to himself. “It carries its own problems, damages relationships, sometimes kills them.” Like the one between Sam and his father… was their relationship salvageable? Time would tell and right now it could go either way. This topic had gotten too deep and he had to find a way out. Sam grabbed onto the next question that flitted through his brain. “So, do you live in the same town where you grew up?” The mother sounded like she’d been a nut job… Was she behind the pearls and designer labels?
“No.” A shake of her head, a deep sigh, and then she shared information he figured she may later regret. “I live in Alexandria, Virginia, but I grew up in Ohio. I haven’t been back there since I finished college. Too many reminders.” A shake of her head and a laugh. “I have a hard enough time keeping my mother’s ‘voice’ quiet. I do not need physical reminders of a past I’d rather forget.”
What to do with that admission? Sam should keep quiet, but the words fell out before he could stop them. “Do you think she needed professional help?” He’d been willing to go to counseling with Celeste, share his feelings with a stranger and he hated sharing touchy-feely stuff with people he didn’t know. But he would have done it for the woman he loved. Celeste wasn’t interested. We’re so far past that, Sam. I don’t know how you can’t see that.
Hope stared at him as if he’d asked her if she thought the sun was yellow. “Of course she needed help, but guess what? It was never going to happen, because my mother didn’t think she had a problem. Oh, no, it was everyone else who had the problem.” She leaned back in her chair, eased her hands around her mug. “She was petrified of getting hurt again and built walls so no one could ever get close to her again—not even me. Play the protection game she said; keep your heart safe. It will be much easier to initiate damage control when the other person hurts you, dies on you, or leaves. And according to my mother, sadness and despair were always on the horizon, just a blink away. That philosophy really messed up my idea of what a relationship should look like. I could never one-hundred-percent commit, because who wanted to risk getting hurt like that?” She darted a glance at him, eyes wide. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Can you pretend you didn’t hear that?”
No, he was never going to forget that piece of information because it could come in handy in the next few weeks. Hope Newland was an interesting puzzle, one he’d like to solve. In some ways, she reminded him of himself. Floundering. Lost. Trying to pretend she had it all together. If he figured her out, maybe that would provide insight into his own issues…where he was headed, and how to get over the past… Or not.
Sam smiled, raised a brow. “Forget? Probably not, but I won’t bring it up unless you do.” The frown said she didn’t like that answer. “Look, I know what it’s like for people to dissect you and assume they know what you’re thinking when they don’t have a clue. Trust me, I’m not going to do that to you. We’re having an after-midnight snack, raiding Mimi’s cookies, which I’m sure she’ll discover in the morning and that’s it. We’re just two people who landed in spots we never pictured ourselves in and we’re trying to figure our way out.”
Those hazel eyes grew bright, shimmered. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly correct.”
A nod and then he eased the cookies toward her. “So, let’s talk about something else. Do you want to hear about the dog who stole a dozen half-frozen meatballs from the kitchen counter while his family was at the grocery store?”
Equal amounts dread and curiosity sifted through her next words. “I don’t know… Do I?”
“Yeah. I think you do.” Sam laughed, pictured Harry Blacksworth telling the tale of how his wife and kids returned from Sal’s market with rolls for meatball subs and the meatballs had disappeared!
With that, the mood shifted, and they were on equal ground again, but something changed that night and he knew it. And he bet the woman sitting across from him knew it, too.