Chapter 7
7
T he next morning, Sam poured his coffee into a to-go mug and grabbed a blueberry muffin. It wasn’t even six thirty, but he had a lot to do today and wanted to get a head start before the clinic opened. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason, and maybe it wasn’t even the real reason why he wanted to bolt from the bed-and-breakfast so early.
He’d shared too much with Hope last night and he couldn’t even say why other than she seemed to understand. Actually, in some respects, her situation didn’t sound much different than his. Wrong person, wrong belief system, bad choice stacked on top of other bad choices. Left to make a decision that would affect the rest of their lives. A moral dilemma with no happy ending.
“Goodness, you’re up early.” Mimi stepped into the kitchen wearing a pink sweatshirt and jeans, a curious expression on her face. “I planned to make you buttermilk pancakes this morning.”
Sam poured a splash of cream into his coffee, screwed on the lid. “Thanks, Mimi, but I’m all set.” He raised the blueberry muffin, smiled. “You know how much I love these muffins, though I do love your buttermilk pancakes. Maybe this weekend?” When she nodded, he continued, “If I leave now, I have a good chance of beating Dad again.” He winked, hoped she bought the story about why he was leaving so early. “It doesn’t happen often and I need all the points I can get with that guy.”
She moved to the chair Hope had sat in last night, placed her hands on the back of it. “The Edgar Harrington I know changed his starting time to eight in the morning six months ago. Your mother said if he didn’t slow down, give up the sweet rolls and donuts, and at least try to eat healthy, then she’d march up to the clinic every morning and make sure he ate his oatmeal.” A chuckle followed by a twinkle in those blue eyes. “Can you imagine that?”
“No, I can’t.” His father didn’t like anyone telling him what to do, but that had never stopped his mother from barging through the man’s huffs and scowls to make him see her way.
“So, you’re sure this has nothing to do with our other guest?”
Sam avoided Mimi’s gaze, sipped his coffee. “You mean Hope?” Darn, had his voice dipped just now? “Why would you think that?” Why would she think that? He’d been very careful these past six days to not ask anything personal when Hope was around. In fact, they hadn’t ventured into “personal” territory until last night.
And he wished they hadn’t. It was never a good idea to reveal so much when?—
The laugh said he was a fool if he thought he could make her believe that comment. “Oh, Sam, I can spot attraction from Lina’s Café. There’s a sizzle between the two of you, anybody can see it. It’s not just the way you look at each other, it’s the mannerisms. Ever notice how she toys with her earring and tilts her head a certain way when she’s talking to you? Or when she’s looking at you? Those hazel eyes turn bright, her expression softens, and when she speaks? It’s almost hesitant, as though she can’t get enough air and you’re the reason for it.” Another laugh as her dangle ball earrings bounced back and forth. “You’re no better as you home in on that girl like she’s a piece of chocolate cake slathered with frosting and a side of vanilla ice cream. Decadent. Mouth-watering. Irresistible. Your mannerisms are different but just as interesting. Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, gaze focused, taking it all in. My husband used to look like that when he was hunting. He could spot a deer before it ever made a sound.”
“Are you suggesting she’s a deer?” Sam forced a laugh, kept his voice even.
“No, but I am suggesting, your senses are on high alert and you’re very interested in our guest. It warms my heart to think you might find a way to be happy again.”
Happy. There was that word again. “Mimi, you’ve got it all wrong. Have you not noticed our ‘encounters’ weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy?” Until last night…that was different…
More laughter, a shake of her head. “Oh, Sam. Do you have any idea how many meant-to-be-partners often start out fighting the attraction and each other? Do you want me to make a list of those couples? I can fill both hands and not be done.”
No, he did not want a list. He did not want anything, because he and Hope Newland were acquaintances, bordering on friends, nothing more. Certainly not meant-to-be-partners or anything close…no matter what Mimi thought, nothing was going to happen. “You’re wrong this time, Mimi.” He lifted the to-go mug and grabbed the muffin. “Thanks for breakfast.” And then he turned and headed toward the door before Mimi could say anything else about Hope Newland or meant-to-be.
Sam avoided Hope the entire day and almost made it through the next. It took a bit of planning, but leaving early and returning to the Heart Sent after ten at night without taking a detour through the kitchen helped. On the morning of the second day, he called his mother to check in and as he’d hoped, she invited him to dinner. It had been three weeks since their last dinner, and there was no denying the joy in her voice when he said “yes”.
Oh, Sam, I’m so happy. What do you think about stuffed pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy?
Perfect. Anything was better than eating a deli sandwich at his desk again or sitting at the Heart Sent surrounded by Mimi and Hope Newland.
And what about chocolate cake with chocolate peanut butter frosting?
He would have said yes to lemon cake and he could barely stomach the stuff. Sure. Sounds great . Anything to avoid another dinner at the Heart Sent. He’d revealed too much with Hope during their midnight snack, and he needed distance until he could figure out why, and how to prevent it from happening again. Gotta, go, Mom. I’ll see you during my break. It was easier to share dinner during his work breaks because his father would be covering for him at the clinic and not sitting at the dinner table. Of course, that didn’t mean Edgar Harrington wouldn’t have a few things to say about it.
“I hear you’re having dinner with your mother this afternoon.”
The man could always turn a statement into an interrogation. Sam glanced up from the X-ray of a golden retriever’s back leg, noted his father’s scowl. The tone said What are you up to now and what are you avoiding? “That’s right. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve stopped over and thought it was time to catch up.” Smile and keep smiling so he goes easy on the questions. But the man was no fool.
“Hmm. Really? Why are you suddenly so concerned about your mother’s state of mind? Is Mimi not feeding you enough?” The scowl deepened, the suspicion in his voice grew. “We both know that’s impossible because Mimi can’t stand to see anybody hungry. So, what is it, Sam? Does this have to do with the new guest staying there? The one who’s asking about small-town life and why it’s so special?” Pause and a curious “You know the one I’m talking about, right? Dark hair, hazel eyes? A real looker.”
How would he know what she looked like? “You met her?”
“I’ve met her. Hope, isn’t it?”
Joyce Harrington did not believe in “prepared” food or “heat and serve”. While she usually selected an afternoon meal that wouldn’t weigh him down for the rest of his day, this one seemed more like a Thanksgiving celebration than a quick bite to eat. Stuffed pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade applesauce, green beans. There was no point telling his mother he hadn’t eaten like this since his college days because she believed food could soothe the soul and she thought Sam needed soul soothing. Did a mother ever consider her child grown? He wouldn’t know. Might never know…
He dug into the stuffing, remembered the first Thanksgiving with Celeste: country club, suit and tie, white tablecloth, ten different desserts, all including pumpkin. That dinner should have been a neon-light warning that she wasn’t the right partner for him, but he’d been so ready to settle down, and she was so beautiful, so captivating, so?—
“I hear there’s a new guest staying at the Heart Sent.”
The raised brow and just the right amount of curiosity told him his mother already knew the answer, had heard it from at least one of her sources, of which there were many. Nosy busybodies was what Sam called them, but his mother insisted it was an information gathering group that delivered vital details regarding family members. Right. Busybodies, no matter how you tried to justify it. He’d escaped the radius of his mother’s intel circle for years, but now that he’d returned to Magdalena, he was back on their radar again…
“Mom, really? Who’s giving you this information and why are they even talking about it? Is it Dolly Finnegan? Did she just so happen to share information during one of your Bleeding Hearts meetings? Or how about Phyllis at the café? I’m sure she hears her share of gossip from those booths.”
“It wasn’t Dolly or Phyllis. This is a small town and I’m very observant.” She forked two green beans, waited for his response.
Sam took another bite of stuffing, chewed until his jaw hurt, and forced out the next question. “Was it Dad?” He hadn’t wanted to touch that subject, but it seemed there was no way around it. Besides, it wasn’t like his parents kept anything from each other, so his mother knew his father and Hope had met. Sam would bet a month’s pay his father had shared every single detail about the guest who was staying at the Heart Sent. Every. Single. Detail. That’s all his mother needed to begin speculating on what those tiny details and nuances meant, could mean or should mean. Ugh.
“Your father might have offered a thought or two, but…that’s why I’m asking you.” She paused, patted his arm. “For confirmation.”
This conversation made him feel like he was sixteen again and missed curfew by forty minutes because he and Christy Shay had been at Boone’s Peak doing what every other high school couple did—exploration—and they’d lost track of time. When he arrived home, there was a twenty-minute lecture on responsibility and a suspension of his driving privileges, except to cart his twelve-year-old sister around. That last one was such a pain!
Sam scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy, determined to shift the conversation to something else— anything else. “You and Dad were always big on politeness. ‘Please, thank you, nice to see you again.’ It’s kind of hard not to have a conversation with someone when we’re both staying at the same place. If there were ten other people there, that would be different, but with the current set-up, it’s common courtesy.” He met her gaze, held it. “I’m being polite, the way you taught me.” There, see how she responded to that one. Sam savored the mashed potatoes and gravy, waited for her response. It took a full ten seconds, but he should have known Joyce Harrington would have one.
“I see. Manners are in play.” A smile flitted over her lips, followed by a nod of her dark head. “Well, I know it’s not my business, but if you were to spend time with her on anything other than for the sake of politeness?” Her features softened, her dark eyes sparkled. “I think that would be wonderful. Word has it she’s beautiful, intelligent, sweet, and very considerate.”
Okay, fine. Hope was a nice person and she was great to look at, and she had the most captivating hazel eyes… But it didn’t matter because he wasn’t interested and besides, she was only visiting. “You do know she’s only here for a few more weeks, right?”
“I’ve heard that, but things do change.”
The woman did not give up. Sam reached over, squeezed his mother’s hand. “But these plans aren’t going to change. She’s here to do a job…another three weeks max, and then she’s gone.” He’d calculated the approximate days she had left the night after he spilled too much in Mimi’s kitchen. If he weren’t careful, he might end up telling her his whole life story, including the details of his screwups, and he was not going to do that! Besides, he didn’t want a fix-up, and he was pretty sure Hope felt the same way.
And then there were the trust issues.
“You don’t know that.” Her dark eyes shimmered with tears. “I never thought you’d move back here and yet you have.” She sniffed, her voice cracking. “Each day brings a new challenge, but it also brings possibility. Old wounds heal and lead us down a new path. You just never know.”
Old wounds. There were a lot of those between Sam and his father, and he wasn’t so sure his dad would ever let them heal enough to move on. Sam cleared his throat, inched his gaze to his mother, and asked the question he’d wondered since before he returned. “Is he ever going to trust me again?”
No sense putting a name to he because they both knew they were talking about Edgar Harrington.
His mother squeezed his hand. “Of course, he is. It’s just going to take time. He was so heartbroken when you joined the practice in Chicago and then acted like nothing had changed between the two of you.”
“I’ve tried to have a conversation with him about it, but he’s not interested. All he wants to say is how much I’m not ready and may never be ready…” It’s too soon to say if you’re capable of taking over the practice. The plan we discussed has changed. Not sure if the opportunity is going to come around again.
“Your father’s a stubborn man. I think he’s waiting to see…”
“Waiting to see if I’ll stay? Waiting to see if I’ll live up to what he thinks I should be? I’m not going anywhere, Mom. I’m here, but the question is will he ever trust me enough and believe in me to the point where I can take over the practice? I have so many ideas, but he doesn’t want to hear any of them. I’ve got the capital to make the changes, and I’ve tried to tell him how the practice could grow, but he just wants me to mind my own business and remember he’s in charge. I’m only going to do that for so long. You know that, don’t you?” There, he’d finally spoken the words out loud.
The expression on her face said she hadn’t considered that he’d give up trying. “What are you saying, Sam? You’ll just give up? You’ll stop trying to convince him you should run the place? Please don’t do that. He’s stubborn and I don’t know how to change that.” She set her fork next to her plate, rubbed her temples. “I’ve never been able to in all the years of our marriage.”
“I’ll give it some time, but I’m a realist. If he continues to be unwilling to even have the conversation, then I’ll talk to the practice in Renova. It wouldn’t be my choice, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life paying for my mistakes.”
“Give him a little more time; he’ll come around. I think he’s afraid to believe you’re back.” Pause, then a whisper soft, “And if you’re interested in this girl, don’t hide it. Your father said I’d like her. Tells me she’s got spunk and a kindness about her, even if she tries to hide behind her good manners and fancy clothes. I’d like a chance to meet her.”
How would that even look and how would he go about asking her? My parents want to meet you? They think we’d make a great couple? Much better than my last choice . Yeah, no, and not happening. When his dad mentioned he’d met Hope, Sam hadn’t known what to say. He’d kept cool because his father had been poking around for details and a hint of something else…like Sam’s interest in Hope Newland? And now his mother had taken over with the questions and the curiosity.
How had Hope met his father without Sam finding out about it? Well, to be fair, he hadn’t seen her for almost two days, not since the night of oversharing in Mimi’s kitchen. She must have visited the clinic when Sam was out, but still? How had she gotten in to see his father in less than forty-eight hours? And why? Edgar Harrington wasn’t on her “must meet” list of Magdalena residents.
So many questions and no answers. Not yet, but he was going to get them. Sam thought about ways to approach Hope for the rest of the night. Did he want to do it? Absolutely not, but he didn’t like people sneaking around, especially when they might be discussing him . He’d had enough of that with Celeste and her friends as they plotted out his career and his life according to what they thought it should look like. Nobody was going to do that to him again.