2
Harper closed the food truck and went home. Clara was in bed, and Nicky was on his way out the door, anxious for a night out with his friends. Harper was bone weary and went to her own bed without protest. She didn’t have the strength for the conversation she needed to have with Nicky.
But she would certainly do that this morning. She’d barely dried off from her shower when a thin sheen of sweat immediately formed between her shoulder blades. It would be another scorcher. She toweled her hair dry, alert to the sounds of running water and the rattling of the tea kettle as Aunt Clara moved around in the kitchen downstairs. Harper twisted her hair into a knot and clipped it to the top of her head, then selected a pair of lightweight drawstring pants from her closet and tugged them on. They wouldn’t budge past her hips. Sighing, she took them off and put on a pair of leggings instead. She’d put off shopping for maternity clothes, but she would have to do that soon.
The shrill whistle of the tea kettle sounded, and then the rise and fall of Clara’s voice. When no one answered, Harper made her way up the attic stairs to the chaos of her brother’s bedroom and peeked in. He was sound asleep. Exasperated, she shook him. “Nicky, you’ve got to get up.”
He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillows.
“Nicky!”
“I know, I know. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“That’s what you said yesterday, and Aunt Clara ended up walking around town in her nightgown. You know I need to be able to count on you this summer.”
He sat up and ran a hand through his messy blond curls. “I know. I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight thirty.”
Groaning again, he flopped back onto the bed.
“Look, I know it’s your summer vacation. I get it. And when I get home tonight you can have the whole evening to do whatever you want. But right now, I have to go and prep the food truck. I need you to keep an eye on Aunt Clara.”
The doorbell chimed, followed by the raucous barking of Clara’s Yorkshire Terrier, Toby.
“What now?” Harper sighed, moving to the hallway.
“It’s probably the guy,” Nicky mumbled.
She turned back. “What guy?”
Downstairs, Clara’s cheerful greeting rose above the clamor of Toby’s barking.
“What guy, Nicky?”
“The guy from yesterday. Didn’t Aunt Clara tell you?”
“Aunt Clara didn’t tell me anything. She was in bed when I got home.” She hurried downstairs and was stunned to discover her aunt chatting with the carousel operator, Dalton King. He stood in the hallway, hands jammed in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, his dark, messy hair gleaming in the morning sunlight that spilled through the windows. The sight of him was at the same time thrilling and unsettling. How did he know where they lived?
“Good morning, Harper,” he said.
Ignoring the strange tickling sensation in her tummy, she raised an eyebrow. “Good morning.”
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise?” Clara asked, beaming.
“It certainly is a surprise.” She cleared her throat and struggled for composure. “What brings you here this morning, Dalton?”
“I don’t have to report to work until later. I thought I’d stop by and give Clara the estimate she asked for.”
The tickle in her tummy escalated to an insistent fluttering. “Estimate for what?”
“I’m hiring him to paint the gazebo,” Clara chirped. “Won’t that be grand?”
Her heart sank. Aunt Clara’s lapses in judgment were getting dangerous. Giving out their address to a perfect stranger? They didn’t even know this man. No way could she have some drifter hanging around all day while she was at work. She forced a polite smile.
“I’m sorry but we’ve already got someone in mind for the job. Aunt Clara must have forgotten.” She turned to Clara. “We asked Sandy Fairbrother, remember?”
“Yes, I did ask him, dear. Sandy is not available until September. This might be my last summer to enjoy the garden, and I don’t want to put off sprucing up the gazebo, not for another day.”
Harper rubbed the base of her neck, where a tension headache threatened. “I’m sure Dalton will be too busy with the carnival to paint our gazebo, Aunt Clara.”
“Actually, I’m not moving on with the carnival company,” he said. “And since I don’t have any definite plans, I thought I’d come by and look at the job. I can start tomorrow.”
“So, you see, the Good Lord worked it all out beautifully,” Clara said serenely.
Harper had her doubts that it was the Lord’s doing, but she didn’t have time to discuss it just then. It would take a full two hours to prep the food truck for the lunch crowd, which typically began arriving at ten thirty. As it was, she was already late. She pulled in a calming breath. “I’ll discuss this with Aunt Clara after work tonight. We’ll get back to you.”
Ignoring Harper’s firm dismissal, Clara linked arms with Dalton and led him to the back door. “Come and have a look, dear, it’s right this way.” The pair strolled across the yard.
Harper hurried back upstairs, where Nicky was still in bed. “Up. Now!”
“OK, OK.”
“Get yourself dressed and get out to the back yard. And wear old clothes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re painting the gazebo today.”
~*~
When she unlocked the door to the food truck fifteen minutes later, Harper was still seething. Nicky had obviously known about the arrangements Aunt Clara made with Dalton King. Her brother was a typical, reckless teenaged boy, but even so, how could he have been OK with this? They couldn’t have some drifter hanging around all summer, sweet talking Aunt Clara out of her pension and who knew what else. He could rob them blind. He could be a serial killer for all they knew.
She blew out her breath. OK. Calm down.
She pushed open the door and grabbed an apron from the row of hooks that hung beside it. She’d figure it out later. Right now, she had a business to run. Tying on her apron, she pulled the day’s batch of pulled pork out of the cooler, mixed in some barbeque sauce, and set it on low heat before putting the sausage links on the burner to par boil. With that finished, she set about slicing onions and peppers, a few more than usual. Being the last day of the festival, it was bound to be busy. It had shaped up to be a good week and for that Harper was thankful.
Redford’s Crossing’s annual Flower Festival was the highlight of the year, second only to the Christmas Jubilee. Every summer in the second week of June thousands of people poured into their little town, bringing their money with them. The local vendors who set up for the week-long event counted on the revenue, including Harper. Especially this year.
Her first trimester had been a nightmare all the way around. The nausea had been unbearable, causing her to cancel all her spring events. But by June, well into her second trimester, the morning sickness eased, and her energy returned. She only wished she had more events on her calendar. There was the bridal shower brunch to cater next week, and then a graduation party at the end of the month. Hopefully those, combined with this week’s profits, would get her through until the Firefly Festival in July. Thank heavens she had Nicky, as unreliable as he could sometimes be. Her baby brother was seventeen. Next year he’d graduate and go into the Air Force Academy…and then what? How would she singlehandedly run a business, take care of Aunt Clara, and raise a baby? She fought down the panic that seemed to follow her like a dark shadow these days. She’d always prided herself on being levelheaded, a problem solver, but recently she’d begun to feel like a human house of cards. As if one more upset would send her whole world toppling.
Breathe, Harper. Just breathe…
“Morning, Harper.” Finley, her only employee, hurried through the side door of the food truck. “I’m sorry I’m so late,” the girl said, hastily tying on an apron. “Mom got stuck at every single red light along the way. The traffic is ridiculous this morning.”
“You’re fine,” Harper assured her.
“What still needs to be done?”
“I think I’ve got everything pretty much caught up in here. You could refill the napkin holders and put out the condiments, though.”
“Sure.”
Harper finished grilling the onions as Finley refilled the ketchup and mustard bottles. After she’d topped off the napkin and straw holders, she cleaned the soda fountains and went outside to wipe down the tables and chairs. Harper smiled. When Finley’s mother, Jen, had approached her last week asking Harper to give Finley a summer job, Harper had had a few misgivings. It was no secret around town that Finley was on probation for shoplifting. Hiring her would be a risk, but Jen begged her to give Finley a chance and really, what choice did Harper have? With Aunt Clara becoming more forgetful by the day, she needed Nicky at home to keep an eye on her and that left Harper short-handed in the truck. But hard working and pleasant, Finley had turned out to be a blessing.
“Thanks, Fin,” she said when the girl returned.
“No problem. How’s your Aunt Clara doing today?”
“She’s fine.”
“It was nice of that guy to wait with her yesterday.”
“Mmmm.”
Nice. Harper had her doubts. What exactly was Dalton King up to?
She’d noticed him at the food truck two days ago, the day before he’d rescued Aunt Clara, and how could a girl not? With his dark hair and dark smoldering eyes, he was the stuff legends were made of. And the way he’d said her name this morning, smooth as warm maple syrup on hotcakes. Moving to the burner, she stirred the pork and turned down the heat. Maybe he was just down on his luck, looking to make a few dollars, and there was no denying the gazebo, like the rest of the house, needed a little tender loving care. Aunt Clara had raised her to always try and do the right thing. Maybe, like Finley, Dalton King would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. She frowned. But maybe he wouldn’t. She knew all too well that sometimes a handsome face could send a girl’s good judgment flying straight out the window. That’s how she got in this mess in the first place, a mess she fully owned, and one that had taught her to think through her decisions very carefully.
By the time she rolled out the oversized awning and the first of her customers appeared at the window, her decision was made.
She’d take it one step at a time. First, she’d get through the last day of the festival. And then she’d get rid of Dalton King.
~*~
Dalton finished his pizza and dumped his paper plate in a trash bin, and though he still had a half hour left of his hour-long lunch break, he headed back to the carousel. He didn’t want to deal with the crowd today, or the noise. He’d decided two days ago that Redford’s Crossing’s Flower Festival would be his last stop with the carnival company. Two days ago, after he got Ben Abrams’ voicemail and came face to face with the reminder that it had been exactly a year since his whole life was shattered.
Hey, it’s Ben. I hope you’re doing well. The thing is, D, it’s been a year, and we need to hear from you. Call me ASAP, OK?
June the twelfth. A whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five days since he’d seen her face, heard her voice.
Tasha…
The first six months, blindsided by grief and guilt, simply pulling himself out of bed each day had been an accomplishment. Knowing he had to find a way to live, or die, in his hotel room, he started taking menial jobs to fill the long, achingly empty hours. Life became a river in which he drifted along, stopping for a time, hiding in anonymity, until his restlessness drove him on again. The vagabond lifestyle had suited him fine. Until two things happened.
First, he’d felt.
The stirring of tenderness and longing when he locked gazes with Harper Blessings was the first emotion he’d allowed himself to feel in a year. No, scratch that. He hadn’t allowed it. It had ambushed him. Knocked the wind out of him. Like a bucket of ice water pulling him out of a dead sleep, it told him it was time to start living again.
And second was the phone message.
The thing is, D, it’s been a year, and we need to hear from you...
After the incident Ben urged him to take a year off, sort himself out. Now the time was up, and he would have to decide. The thought of returning to his old life was a knife twist in his gut. No, he couldn’t go back to business as usual, act as if nothing had happened. But neither could he keep drifting along, pretending his former life didn’t exist.
So why had he told the old woman he’d paint her gazebo? Especially when her niece obviously didn’t want him here. He should just walk away, move on. But where did he go from here?
The thing is, D, it’s been a year…
He hadn’t sorted it out, he’d pushed it from his mind. Now he would have to go back and face it. All of it. But he needed a few more days.
He’d buy himself some time to think, away from the chaos and noise of the carnival, and help the old lady at the same time. Three days. Four at the most.
And then he’d decide.