Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
Hartley
“It’s good to see you, too, Violet,” I say, accepting a hug from Ms. Crowder. She squeezes me a bit too long, her frail arms shaking as she clutches my biceps. “Do you want me to walk you to the piano?”
She pulls back with a wide smile. “It’s hard to refuse that offer, but a few stragglers are coming in behind you, and I want to be here to welcome them since Pastor Reed’s running late for the service this morning.”
“All right. Take care.”
“You too, honey.”
I take a program from the basket beside her and make my way into the small country church.
Most of the pews are filled as I head to the spot where I’ve sat most Sunday mornings in my lifetime.
Bobby sits behind Brooks, Audrey, and Brooks’s mom to my right.
I try to pass without making eye contact with Brooks, but it’s like he’s waiting for me.
His grin is too devious for God’s house—too full of questions about me walking out of Patsy’s last night—but that’s never stopped him before.
“Hartley,” Lolly says, grabbing my elbow from behind me.
I stop, looking over my shoulder to find her peering up at me. Her heels make her a little taller, but she’s still a tiny package of dynamite.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says as I face her. “I’m glad to catch you before Pastor Reed starts the sermon.”
“I heard he’s running late.”
“He’s here. Cherry Randolph is in hospice, and things got dicey last night. He paid her a visit this morning because they don’t expect her to make it much longer.”
I frown. “That’s too bad.”
“It certainly is. But what can you expect at her age? The Lord is coming for us all.”
I twist my lips to hide a smile because, while she’s right, I’m not sure that Cherry is any older than Lolly.
“Anyway,” Lolly continues, “can you come over for lunch after church? I have a couple of things I’d like to chat with you about, if you don’t mind.”
My stomach tightens. Lolly invites me to lunch every now and then, usually to thank me for helping her with a chore. But to chat? What do we have to chat about?
Nothing … unless it’s to tell me that she’s selling her property to Ed Beardsley.
I take a deep breath and steady myself. She doesn’t need to chat about it with me—she can do whatever she wants with her land. I’ll never be able to afford to intervene, and she knows that. So, what does she want? To break it to me gently?
“Two thirty,” Lolly says. “See you then.”
“I …” I begin, but she’s already two rows down chatting with Mayor Blackwell.
Dammit.
My stomach roils as I sidestep a kid racing down the aisle, wishing that I had stayed in bed.
This was coming. Hell, it was inevitable. I’ve anticipated this day for years now—the day Lolly decides that she’s too old to take care of three hundred acres and is ready to sell. But now that it’s here, it’s hard to believe.
It’s even harder to accept.
Mayor Blackwell steps out of my way, and my gaze lands on Markie … and Mira beside her. Her eyes lift to mine as if she knew she’d find them on her.
A soft smile curls the corners of her lips as the morning light spills through the stained glass windows. She looks like an angel in her white sundress, with her dark hair swept across one shoulder. Despite having her in my arms last night, this contact is somehow more intimate.
“Let me scoot you over a bit,” Lolly says, nudging me with her palm as she slides into the pew beside her granddaughters.
“Excuse me,” I say. I clear my throat, my gaze rising to Mira’s again. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning,” she says, her tone rising, inviting me to reply.
I don’t. “Mornin’, Markie.”
“Hi, Hart,” she says.
I give Lolly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then find my seat just as Violet plays the first keys of the opening hymn. The church fills with voices, most parishioners not bothering to open the hymnal. We sing the same twenty-odd songs in rotation. Those are the only ones Violet knows how to play.
“I’m sorry,” Lora whispers.
The woman from the bank stands in the aisle with her Bible clutched to her chest, waiting for me to make room for her like I have every Sunday for the past three months. And, like every Sunday for the past three months, a sense of dishonesty creeps through my veins as I get to my feet.
I know she’s trying to get to know me. She offered to make me soup a couple of weeks ago when I had a cough. She routinely compliments my appearance and leaves opportunities dangling, inviting us to spend time together. But never once have I taken her up on her unspoken offers.
“No worries,” I say, moving to the aisle so she can take a seat beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mira’s arched brow. Her stare is hot against my cheek, and it takes everything inside me not to look at her. “Are you all right?”
She leans in, smelling like fresh-baked bread. “I decided to throw in a roast for supper, and time got away from me. I sped all the way here. Good thing the sheriff is in attendance today, or he’d have given me a ticket.”
I smile at her before facing forward. After all, it’s not her fault that I’m uninterested.
Lora Jackson’s a sweet woman and pretty, too. She’s kind and seemingly honest—the sort of woman who would make an amazing wife and mother. I’ve thought about this a few times, often late at night when I can’t sleep and find myself sitting on the front porch with a glass of tea.
But I can’t do it. As stupid as it is—and it is beyond foolish at this point—I can’t imagine making memories with anyone besides Mira. I don’t want to. As lonely as it gets, I’d rather just be alone.
“Good morning,” Pastor Reed says, as the hymn finishes.
He sidesteps the ray of light hitting him in the face.
“It’s nice to see so many faces smiling back at me.
” He comes around the pulpit. “I’d like to start this morning with a friendship offering for the family of Cherry Randolph.
I just came from her house and, well, the good Lord is calling her home. ”
The boys who take up the offering collect the plate and begin passing it down each aisle.
I deposit a one-hundred-dollar bill into the tray before handing it off to Lora.
The church has had multiple discussions about modernizing and allowing online transactions, but every time the idea comes up, it meets a resounding no.
I get it. There’s something wholesome about putting money into a collection bin, even if it is a pain in the ass when you forget to go to the ATM Saturday night.
“Hey, about that roast,” Lora says, her blue eyes sparkling. “It’s a pretty big one, much more than I can eat myself. Would you want to come over for supper?”
I dig my buzzing phone from my pocket. “That’s very nice of you, but I already have plans. I’m sorry.”
Her smile wobbles. “Oh, no worries. I’ll just freeze the rest.”
“Let’s open our Bibles this morning to Mark, chapter nine, verse twenty-three,” the pastor says. “Everything is possible for the one who believes. That’s what we’re talking about today, folks.”
I glance down at my device.
Brooks: So …
Me: Whatever it is, it can wait.
Brooks: Why’d you leave Pasty’s last night?
Me: Talking about a bar during church services isn’t good manners.
Brooks: Neither is threatening to kill a man for touching Mira’s ass.
I roll my eyes.
Me: I didn’t threaten anyone.
Brooks: What’s that old saying? Actions speak louder than words? Yeah. You didn’t have to SAY shit.
Me: It’s no big deal. Now shut up and pay attention.
Brooks: I’m good. I already believe, so I know that he’s not preaching to me.
I glance over my shoulder to catch him smirking at me. Audrey’s too invested in the sermon to realize her boyfriend is being a shithead. That or she’s just used to it by now.
Shaking my head, I type out another message.
Me: I’m turning my phone off.
Before I can get it to shut down, Brooks sneaks in another text.
Brooks: Oh, so no distractions? That’ll be great from Mira’s point of view. She’ll think you and Lora are canoodling.
I abort my mission. Fucker.
Me: You shouldn’t be distracted in church.
Brooks: At least I’m honest about it. You’re sitting up there stoically, pretending you’re not thinking about Mira St. James.
Me: Mind your own business.
Brooks: I try. But before I give that another go, let me warn you that Mira is an assassin.
Me: What?
Brooks: She’s silently trying to kill Lora right now with her eyeballs. They’re shooting invisible lasers into the back of her head. One or two might’ve hit you, but the majority are aimed at her.
My lips twist to hide a smile. Lora gives me a curious look, then turns her attention back to the pastor.
Me: Stop.
Brooks: What happened between you two last night?
Me: Nothing.
Brooks: Why are you lying to me?
Me: The fighting community would love to know that the former champ is now the small-town gossip.
Brooks: I have some gossip for you.
I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t wait for him to continue. I should shut my phone off and focus on Pastor Reed's message. Besides, what Brooks considers interesting gossip usually fails to register with me.
He’s easily entertained.
But I have a feeling that Pastor Reed’s sermon this morning won’t capture my attention, even if I turn my phone off. My brain will start pondering why Lolly wants to chat this afternoon, and I’ll spend the next hour working myself into an ulcer.
If she wants to sell, she can sell. There’s nothing I can do about it.
God, you’re going to have to forgive me this week, please.
Me: Fine. I’ll bite.
Brooks: Tomorrow will be a big day for Andrew Van.
I frown.
Audrey’s brother is one huge piece of shit. I don’t know all the details—mostly because I don’t ask. I operate on the premise that if people want me to know things, they’ll tell me. Otherwise, I’m better off in the dark.
But Andrew tried to ruin Brooks’s fighting career, destroy his relationship with Audrey, and blackmail him—simultaneously.
That I know. What I don’t know is why Brooks is so eerily calm about it all.
Sure, he got Audrey in the end, so it all worked out, but Brooks is taking it all in stride … and that’s not Brooks Dempsey.
Me: Why?
Brooks: I guess there’s a case opening against him with the combat commission. And, from what I hear, it will bleed over into a legal case.
Me: Really?
Brooks: That’s what I hear.
My fingers fly over the letters as I respond. His smirk says it all. There’s a lot more to this story than he’s sharing—which is fine—but something tells me he’s more involved in this than he’s letting on.
Me: Well, if he deserves it, good.
Brooks: Oh, he fucking deserves it.
Brooks: Nah, he deserves more than whatever he gets. But if he got what he really deserves, I’d end up in prison.
What the hell is going on?
I shrug, figuring he’ll tell me if he wants me to know.
Me: I’m here if you need anything.
Brooks: As long as the justice system works, I’ll be here, too.
Me: You know, you probably shouldn’t put this in writing. Just in case.
Brooks: Didn’t think of that.
Me: Color me surprised.
I silence my phone and slide it back in my pocket. Lora gives me a grin as she opens her hymnal and joins in with the congregation. Slowly, just like I knew it would, a sense of dread fills me.
“Can you come over for lunch after church? I have a couple of things I’d like to chat with you about, if you don’t mind.”
My face heats as I play Lolly’s request over and over.
She’s going to sell. And not only is she going to sell the acreage, but she’s also going to sell it to a developer who will create God knows what next door to the ranch.
My failure to bring the land back into the Adler name—the one thing I promised myself I’d do after my parents’ deaths—will ruin the privacy and way of life for future generations.
“Everything is possible for the one who believes.”
I blow out a long breath.
Brooks might think this sermon isn’t for him, but I really don’t think it’s for me. Because all the things I want?
Mira? Lolly’s land? A family?
None of them is possible.
And there’s not a sermon in the world that can fix that.