Chapter Four #2
The words settled uncomfortably in Rachel’s chest. Her hometown.
Was it still? The plunge pool where she’d learned to swim, the mountains that had cradled her childhood, the streets where she’d walked hand in hand with Noah.
All of it felt simultaneously foreign and intimately familiar, like a dream she couldn’t quite place.
“It’s been too many years,” she said quietly. “Service isn’t my responsibility anymore.”
Benji’s expression softened. “No one said it was. But maybe it’s your opportunity.”
Before Rachel could respond, a gentle knock sounded at the open door. Bethany stood there, holding a small tray with steaming mugs.
“I thought you might like some tea before bed,” she offered, stepping into the room. “Chamomile with local honey. Matt’s already turned in. He’s up at four most mornings.”
“Some things never change,” Rachel murmured, accepting a mug with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Bethany.”
“I’ll take mine to my luxurious barn suite,” Benji announced, rising and taking his cup. “You two beautiful women clearly need to chat.” He winked at Rachel before disappearing down the hallway.
Silence stretched between them until Bethany gestured to the edge of the bed. “May I?”
Rachel nodded, scooting over to make room.
Up close, she could see the fine lines around Bethany’s eyes, the subtle silver threading through her auburn hair at the temples.
She wasn’t the uptight, hypercritical beauty Rachel had half-expected, but something better, a woman comfortable in her skin, with laugh lines and capable hands.
“Your father is so excited about you coming home,” Bethany said, sipping her tea. “He’s been organizing the tools and clearing that old worktable in the barn for weeks.”
Rachel blinked in surprise. “My table? I thought he’d decided to get rid of it.”
“Matt said you’d want the table for the wedding arch designs. Thank you for sharing your gift… you know, building the showpiece,” Bethany explained. “Though I told him you probably work on computers these days.”
“I do, but…” Rachel felt an unexpected tug of emotion. “That was thoughtful of him.”
“That’s Matt,” Bethany smiled. “Thoughtful to a fault.” She paused, her expression growing more serious.
Rachel watched as Bethany’s manicured fingers, polished a business nude, traced the rim of her cup.
So different from her mother’s hands—always cut short and practical, often with paint or soil still beneath them despite her scrubbing.
Mom had been practical and unfussy, with a warmth born of generations of farm life.
Bethany was polished cashmere and subtle perfume, her auburn hair falling in soft waves around shoulders that had likely never hefted hay bales or wrangled unruly livestock
“I wanted to speak with you alone,” Bethany said finally, her voice soft and cautious. “This must be hard for you.”
Rachel shifted, uneasy with the directness. “What’s that?”
“All of it. Coming back to Service. Our wedding. Your father remarrying after two-plus decades.” Bethany met her eyes. “And me… in this house.”
The frankness surprised Rachel. She’d expected platitudes, perhaps some awkward attempt to bond, but not this straightforward acknowledgment.
“As you said, it’s been twenty-five years since Mom died,” Rachel said carefully. “Dad deserves happiness.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean embracing the unknown and dealing with change doesn’t weigh on us. When I told my daughter, Amarie, about Matt’s proposal, she said she was fine.”
Rachel glanced up from her mug. Could she trust Bethany with her initial thoughts when her father had done the same?
The call had come on a Sunday night. Who called anyone for a job on the most stressful day of the week?
Her dad, that’s who. Her dry-cleaning bag had slipped from her grasp, hitting the marble bedroom tiles in a folded heap.
A huge no-no for corporate Rachel. She had heard Joan Crawford scream in her head, No wire hangers…
or wrinkles. “Was Amarie… was she fine?”
“She wasn’t… at first,” Bethany said, tucking one leg beneath her as she settled more comfortably on the bed. “She had questions about what it meant for her, her father, holidays, and future grandkids.”
Wow. Rachel had no desire to talk about holidays. And the part about kids inhabiting her womb, not interested. She needed to stop this before there was more talk of sperm and eggs. “Really, Bethany. I’m fine”—Rachel hesitated, then admitted one truth—“now. When Dad called on a Sunday—”
Bethany gasped. “Oh no, he didn’t. Doesn’t he know how many people drop dead preparing for work on Monday?”
Rachel threw up both hands. “Yes, exactly. You get it.”
Bethany gave Rachel’s hand a squeeze, their connection lasting a moment longer than required. Rachel looked from their connection into Bethany’s eyes. “I do, Rachel.”
She was good. Rachel saw what had attracted her father to the divorcée from nine hundred and five miles away. Bethany Walker walked into a room preceded by warmth, compassion, and an open heart. A heart with room for the man she loved… and his daughter.
“Thank you for loving him,” Rachel whispered. She didn’t add herself. But she didn’t have to. In her own way, Bethany welcomed Rachel as a part of the package.
Bethany placed her cup on the nightstand.
“Always and forever.” She sighed like a schoolgirl thinking of her high school crush.
Rachel understood how intense that crazy love could be.
“And I want you to know I would never try to replace your mother… as if I could. Your father keeps a picture of her in his wallet.”
A gasp escaped her lips before Rachel could pull it back. “He never told me.”
Bethany nodded, acknowledging without asking anything of her. Rachel had held on to a few that had belonged to her mother, but she never felt comfortable discussing it with her father.
“He shared it with me after our third date.” Bethany chuckled to herself.
“He said since we’d danced at the Black Bear, we were official.
He said he wanted me to understand that loving someone new doesn’t erase loving someone before.
” She reached out hesitantly, then rested her hand lightly on Rachel’s. “That applies to daughters, too.”
Rachel swallowed hard, looking down at their hands—Bethany’s elegant and fine-boned, her own worker’s hands with their blunt nails and faint scars, so much like her mother’s despite years away from farm work.
“I don’t expect to be your mother,” Bethany continued. “But I’d be honored to be your friend, if you want it. I’m so grateful you came to take part in the wedding. And you need to know, that’s more than enough. What happened this afternoon with Noah—”
“Nothing happened,” Rachel said quickly. Too quickly.
“Of course,” Bethany agreed smoothly, straightening. “I just wanted to say that I appreciate you, Rachel. If you decided to consider the committee position, it would mean a lot to this town.”
Rachel took a careful sip of her tea, buying time. “I’m not sure I’d be welcome.”
“Noah’s opinion isn’t the only one that matters,” Bethany pointed out.