structures are still solid.”
“Everyone’s done a wonderful job.”
He nodded. “The last time I was here, I noticed that a number of families have put furniture in the buildings—stuff that was handed down to them from their grandparents and great-grandparents.”
“I imagine Savannah planted all these roses,” Annie said.
“She was the one who started it all, you know. It was her search for old roses that brought her to Bitter End. Soon after, others came, and later when word got out about Richard hiding here, people got really curious. Bitter End was what originally brought Travis Grant to Promise.”
Annie proudly featured his books at her store, and he’d already come to speak once. Travis wrote bestselling children’s books as T. R. Grant and had written two blockbuster adult novels as Travis Grant. It’d been a thrill to meet him, along with his wife, Nell, and their children, including a pair of adorable two-year-old twins.
“Nell and Travis were the ones who solved the mystery,” Lucas went on to explain.
Annie had known that, but she hadn’t heard details.
As he led her into the buildings he knew were safe, Lucas described the search Travis and Nell had undertaken, which involved interviewing descendants of Bitter End’s residents, going into newspaper archives on the Internet and piecing together an antique story quilt.
When Lucas and Annie finished exploring, they sat in two rocking chairs placed on the boardwalk outside the mercantile. The scene was a pleasing one. Annie could imagine what it must have been like 130 years ago, and her thoughts slid pleasantly back in time.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the subject of Bitter End apparently exhausted. Lucas glanced at her and said, “I hope my girls haven’t made pests of themselves. They’d be at the bookstore every day if I let them.”
“Pests? Heather and Hollie? Never!”
“They like you.”
“Well, I like them. I hope you’ll let them come as often as they want.” She wanted to add that he was welcome, too, but didn’t.
Lucas chuckled. “I don’t think I could keep them away.”
Annie recognized the girls’ need to be noticed and nurtured and loved. As a motherless child, that was what she’d sought herself. Whatever she could do to comfort them, to assuage their sense of loss, she would.
Lucas looked at his watch. “We should probably think about heading back.”
Annie knew he was right, but she hated to leave the tranquillity of Bitter End. Nor was she ready to give up this time with Lucas.
By tacit agreement, they returned to the truck. Lucas walked ahead of her, assisting her as she made her way carefully up the embankment. When the terrain became steep, he reached for her hand. She smiled her appreciation and was rewarded with a lazy grin, which unaccountably sent her pulse skittering. Friends, he’d said, and she’d agreed—yet it seemed somehow that they’d already gone beyond friendship.
She was well aware that Lucas was a handsome man, especially when he smiled. But it wasn’t his good looks that impressed her. Billy, her ex-husband, had been known as a heartthrob in their college days. But unlike Billy, Lucas Porter was a man of character, a man of inner strength. When his wife became ill, he hadn’t turned his back; instead, he’d remained steadfastly at her side. When she’d died, he hadn’t handed his children over for others to raise, but had uprooted himself and moved to Promise to be closer to his parents. This was the kind of man who would accept her scars. A man who wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. Friends, she reminded herself. That was all they’d be and that was fine by her. Wasn’t it?
As they traveled back to town, they talked about the old families—the Westons and Pattersons and Frasiers—who’d left Bitter End and come to Promise. Truly a place for new beginnings, they decided. Lucas parked behind Tumbleweed Books and walked her up the stairway that led to her small apartment above the store.
She unlocked the door and was about to invite him in when he said, “Thanks, Annie, for a very enjoyable afternoon.”
“Thank you.” She held her breath, hoping he’d ask her out a second time right then and there.
He didn’t. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pants pockets, nodded and walked away.
Apparently the interest she felt wasn’t mutual.
Glen Patterson knew his brother well enough to recognize when there was something on his mind. And this past week, Cal hadn’t been himself.
For several years following the breakup of his engagement to Jennifer Healy, who’d walked out on him less than forty-eight hours before the wedding, Cal had been withdrawn, uncommunicative. Then Jane Dickinson came to Promise, and his brother’s personality was gradually transformed. That was four years ago. After meeting Jane, Cal had become more optimistic and relaxed about life. It was increasingly obvious to Glen—if not to Cal—that his brother had fallen in love. Glen was, to say the least, relieved. In his view, marriage to Jane was the best thing that could have happened to Cal. Jane had restored the person he used to be, before Jennifer. But Glen sensed that something was wrong now, and he prayed it wasn’t with his brother’s marriage.
They were in the process of branding cattle and had finished for the day. They climbed into the pickup, then headed toward the barn in silence. Glen made a few brief attempts at conversation, but Cal’s lack of responsiveness unnerved him. No teasing, no laughing, no jokes. Every once in a while, he studied Cal surreptitiously, unsure what to say.
“Everything all right with Jane and the baby?” he asked as casually as he could when Cal parked the pickup behind the barn.
“Fine,” Cal snapped.
“Don’t bite my head off,” Glen snapped back. “If you wanna be mad, then be mad, but I’d like to know what you’re mad about. I’m funny that way.”
That comment elicited a weak grin. Then, for no reason Glen could discern, Cal turned abruptly and walked into the barn.
“You been to see Mom and Dad lately?” Cal asked when Glen followed him. He sat down on a bale of hay, removed his hat and leaned forward, resting both arms on his knees.
“Of course I have.” He was the brother who lived in town, after all. Glen saw their parents every week, sometimes two or three times. He and Ellie bowled in a couples’ league on Thursday nights and his parents baby-sat Johnny. He often stopped by for a quick visit. And they saw each other at church on Sundays. Come to think of it, though, his parents’ attendance had slipped in the past few months.
“Notice anything different?” Cal asked next.
Glen considered their last few visits and shook his head. “Not really.”
Cal gritted his teeth. “Is the entire world blind?” he muttered. “Am I the only one who can see there’s something going on?”
“What’s wrong with Mom and Dad?” This was beginning to irritate Glen.
“I told you they aren’t accepting reservations, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. But that’s their decision, don’t you think?”
Cal ignored his question and asked another. “How long has it been since they had guests?”
“They want a break,” Glen said with a shrug. “Frankly, it’s none of our business what they do.”
Cal was silent a moment. Then he asked, “When was the last time you sat down and actually talked to them?”
“I do every week.” But did he? Glen paused to give the matter more thought and