Chapter Five
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GWYNN’S INSIDES had coiled tighter than a used-up tube of paint by the time the truck crossed inside Prospect’s borders. How could Aunt Maude have tricked her into coming?
How could God have allowed it?
It’s time.
There came those words again, as clearly as if God physically sat in the truck. Fear battled with peace, and she took a deep breath.
“You okay?” Cash asked, turning onto a wide road flanked by buildings in the typical western false front architecture.
“Mmm-hmm.” Gwynn rolled her shoulders. “Long day of travel.” Late afternoon shadows stretched across the street as the sun descended toward the mountainous horizon.
“Hang in there for a few more minutes. This is Broadway, our main street that runs north and south for several blocks.”
She nodded and affected the role of a first-time visitor.
Cash braked to allow a family to cross the road, raising a finger to them in greeting. “Here you’ll find your common shops like the grocer’s and bookstores, novelty shops like Tony’s Glassworks, vacant buildings harkening back to a more prosperous time, and”—he pointed down the street with a lopsided grin—“the only traffic light in town.”
As he resumed speed, Gwynn craned her neck to read the storefront names. Several had changed in the last decade; some remained the same. Christmas lights and garland wound along lampposts and zig-zagged overhead. “Do you have a shop for your carpentry business?”
“Yes, although I technically co-own it with my mentor. He’s hoping I buy him out soon, but contrary to what my name might imply, I’m tight on funds.”
“I know that feeling. Who’s your mentor?”
“Gramps. Frank Holliday when you first meet him, but after that, everyone calls him Gramps.”
“Gramps,” Gwynn whispered, fingers splayed on the window. “Sounds like a much-loved man.” Memories pressed against the cage in her mind, but she avoided it, focusing instead on sounding like a newcomer. “And is your shop on Broadway, or elsewhere?”
Cash indicated a two-storied green barn with white trim up ahead that looked out of place among the blockier structures. Above the barn doors hung a rustic, hand-hewn sign displaying the words, Plane & Knotty Carpentry . Below the sign, a black wooden arrow pointed to a door that had been cut into the larger barn door—with a child-sized door cut into the adult-sized door.
So, Gramps still catered to a child’s fancy.
“I love it,” Gwynn said. “What do you make? Furniture? Toys? Cabinetry?”
“You’ll have to swing by and see for yourself.” Cash gave her a slow grin. “I’ll make sure to wear my tool belt.”
She groaned but couldn’t suppress a smile of her own. “You’re not going to let that drop, are you?”
“Not unless you give me reason to.”
Gwynn studied his profile, the hard planes of his face, the straight slope of his nose, his perfectly mussed curls begging for a finger-comb. Easy on the eyes coupled with chivalry to melt the heart. She had a hundred good reasons not to encourage him—for both their sakes—but she couldn’t voice a single one.
He passed under the green light and drove for another two blocks before turning down a side street. “Almost there.”
They went one more block, turned onto yet another street, and passed three houses before pulling to a stop in front of a two-story house with smoke blue siding. Vintage candles flickered in each window, and the shades were drawn halfway in the upper two dormers. Garland and white Christmas lights swathed the front porch and underlined the windows, and an evergreen wreath with an oversize red bow graced the paneled door.
“It’s like something you’d see on a vintage Christmas card,” Gwynn whispered.
Here she’d be able to fully relax with the two people in Prospect who knew her worst secrets and loved her anyway.
She reached for the door handle, but Cash touched her arm. “That’s my job, remember?”
Gwynn cocked an eyebrow again.
“It’s not a reflection of your capabilities, Gwynn, but a show of respect on my part … and maybe a touch of reverence.”
“Reverence?”
His lips lifted. “Yes, ma’am. The female sex baffles us men.”
“I take it ‘ma’am’ is considered another show of respect?”
“Uh, yes … ma’am.”
She pursed her lips to hide a grin. “Except, it makes me feel old, and you’re older than I am.”
“How do you figure that?” With mock offense, Cash pulled down the visor to check his reflection in the mirror. “Do I look old?”
Gwynn laughed. “You look perfect.”
Cash shot her a sly smile. “Perfect, huh?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I mean fine. You look fine.”
“You said perfect.”
Too perfect for her. She tugged her newsboy cap into place. “Will you please open my door, now?”
“I don’t know. From where I sit, the longer you talk, the better I sound.”
“You’re a flirt.”
“Guilty as charged.” He reached into the backseat for his Stetson and settled it atop his head. His striking eyes regarded her from beneath the brim. “And it’s completely uncharacteristic of me.”
Gwynn snorted. “Right.”
“I promise.” Cash slowly drew back his door handle. “Have you ever met a person you immediately clicked with and felt like you’d known them forever?”
Her heart thumped. “Yes.”
“Yeah.” He stared at her a moment longer, wrapping her in crystal blue warmth, then shook his head and hopped from the cab.
Gwynn blew out her breath, looped her scarf about her neck, and once again tugged her coat sleeve over her scar. Okay, Lord, You’ve made Your point , she prayed as Cash walked around the truck . I still find him attractive. Will You lay off now? I have a plan, and You’re supposed to help me stick to it.
Even though her plan had already altered with the good news about Uncle Russ.
Her door opened and Cash stepped aside, offering his gloved hand. “Careful when you step out. There’s black ice.”
More chivalry? “Thanks.” Taking his hand, she moved from truck to sidewalk—and promptly lost traction.
Cash seized her waist to keep her upright, and the action hauled her against him. She inhaled a mix of spice and wood shavings. Her body hummed as heat enveloped her despite the frigid mountain air.
“That’s the second time today you’ve saved me from kissing the ground.”
Interest flared in his eyes. “My pleasure.”
“N-not kissing,” she murmured. “Wrong word.”
“Freudian slip?” He gave a lazy smile, his gaze roaming her face. Slowly, his eyebrows drew together, and the interest in his eyes retreated behind shutters of wariness. Cash set her away from him, gripping her upper arms. “ Hadley ?”
She froze. “What?”
“You’re Hadley Jacobs.” Cash’s hands tightened. “And yet, you can’t be. Your eyes and hair color are wrong. And she’s—”
“Gwynn, you made it!”
The excited cry came from the house, and Gwynn broke from Cash’s hold as Aunt Maude shuffled down the porch stairs, throwing a winter coat over an ivory sweater. “I’m so sorry about the icy patches. I saw you slip. Are you all right?”
On shaky limbs, Gwynn met the tiny woman on the path halfway to the house and received the frail but heartfelt embrace, tears leaking from her eyes. “I should be livid with you,” she said, “but it’s good to see you.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Aunt Maude drew back and cupped Gwynn’s face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about Russ. He’s inside with Brisket, putting the kettle on for tea. He can’t wait to see you.” She smiled past Gwynn. “Cash, honey, thank you for bringing her home. You want to take those inside?”
Gwynn turned as Cash set her carry-on and backpack purse on the sidewalk.
“I made huckleberry pie,” Aunt Maude added. “Have a slice before leaving.”
Cash removed his hat and drilled a hand through his hair. “Mind if I take a rain check?” He glanced at Gwynn, his eyes weighted with unspoken questions.
If he expected answers, he’d have to ask elsewhere.
“No pressure to stay. You’re still a gentleman in my book”—with an easy smile, Gwynn stepped forward to grab her things—“even if you don’t bring these inside.” She didn’t blame him for running. She’d run, too, if she’d seen a ghost from the past.
His posture relaxed. “It was nice meeting you … Gwynn.”
“You too.”
He opened his mouth as though to say more, then closed it again and gave a slight tug on the brim of his Stetson. Nodding to Aunt Maude, he walked around his truck and hopped inside the cab.
“I suppose it was too much to hope that he would stay a little longer,” Aunt Maude said as the truck rumbled to life and moved away from the curb. “You know, it was the darnedest thing. About thirty minutes ago, Russ came out to try starting the car one more time before calling a tow truck, and it started right up!”
“Hmm.” Gwynn pursed her lips and extended her carry-on handle. “You sure this dysfunctional car wasn’t a ruse to throw Cash and me together?”
Aunt Maude held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” Then she wagged her eyebrows. “I saw him catch you when you slipped, though. You two looked good—”
“No matchmaking, Aunt Maude. It’s bad enough you made me think Uncle Russ was dying.”
“Tut tut.” The woman waved her off and trudged toward the porch. At the end of the block, Cash’s truck turned the corner and disappeared.
Out of sight , Gwynn mused, following Aunt Maude into the house. But how long before I can put Cash Cooper out of my mind … for the second time?