fifteen—not thirteen—in the eighth grade.
He saw his father again, sitting in the recliner in their pan-gray living room, empty beer bottles lined up on the floor beside him. He was glad someone had torn down the old shack. Otherwise, he might’ve been tempted to buy it and rip it down himself.
Zach clicked on a country music station and rolled down the window to let in the night air.
His usual expectations upon returning home had been met. He’d only been back a few hours, and he was already primed to leave.
Chapter 2
Kristin stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a white terry robe, then with a vengeance, rubbed a towel over her short hair. She was so churned up, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Flinging the towel over the shower curtain rod, she strode barefoot into her pretty oak kitchen where her teakettle was screaming its spout off. She turned off the gas.
How could she have let him get to her like that?
What had possessed her to bid three hundred dollars on a man who’d crushed her spirit, and for months, had her gobbling chocolate like a child on Halloween?
She fixed her tea, grabbed the cookie jar from the countertop and carried it to the sofa in her living room. After a moment, she picked up the phone to call Rachel in Flagstaff. She hung up before she’d finished dialing the area code.
The second she told Rachel that she’d seen Zach again, her psychologist-sister would either counsel Kristin to death over the phone or catch the next plane home and do it in person.
Kristin couldn’t handle any more preaching tonight. Not after Chad’s well-meaning diatribe when he walked her to her car. He’d pretended concern, but his underlying feelings were easy to read. He was hurt, and he couldn’t understand how she could have bid on a man she supposedly despised. He hadn’t been in the best of moods when she’d sent him back to Mary Alice.
Kristin reached inside the cookie jar and grabbed a handful of Oreos. She needed to forget that Zach Davis ever existed. She needed to drink tea and eat cookies and watch mindless TV and forget.
It was simply mind over matter. She’d done it before, and she could do it again.
The next morning as she said goodbye to Mildred Arnett and hung up the phone in her shop, Kristin was teeming with energy. This mind over matter thing was easy. All she’d needed to do was focus directly on the work she loved, and she’d been doing that nonstop for an hour—ever since she came in at seven-thirty.
Pushing to her feet, Kristin grabbed the shipping manifest from her clipboard and strode into the small stockroom off her sales floor to finish checking in the previous day’s delivery. Two dozen cartons were stacked beside the metal door leading to the alley.
Pulling a stool close, she opened the boxes, checking each one to see that the description and number of items agreed with the manifest, then noting it on the sheet and boxing the items back up to be shelved later.
The very last carton was a case of jelly-jar candles she’d received from a new vendor. Kristin took more time with them, removing the lids to check the quality and strength of the fragrances. The second she opened the strawberry candle with the pretty red-speckled label, she knew it was a mistake.
One whiff had tears filling her eyes and that cruel videotape in her mind clicking on again.
Suddenly she was driving up the bumpy dirt driveway to Etta Gardner’s farmhouse again…guiding her mother’s car to the end, then back behind the big, white clapboard house where the strawberry fields opened and a small campfire blazed orange in the darkness.
The scent of strawberries filled her mind and lungs, and Kristin’s chest began to ache. Because there was Zach in the car’s headlights again, shattering her heart in a million pieces.
The bell over the entry door jerked Kristin out of her thoughts, and blinking rapidly, she blessed the interruption. She didn’t need this anymore, didn’t want it.
Smoothing her pearl-gray jacket over her white camisole and gray skirt, she summoned a smile and returned to her sales floor where antiques and pretty collectibles shared space with Amish baked goods, silk flowers and more candles.
Her face froze when she saw who’d entered. Then she reminded herself that she was a professional, drew a steadying breath and walked out to greet Zach, just as she would greet any other customer who walked through her door.
“Good morning, Kris.”
“Good morning.” She would not get upset again. She would not run trembling to the cookie jar ever again because of him. She stepped behind the glass showcase that served as a sales counter to stand beside the hulking old-fashioned silver cash register. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I’m here to do something for you.” He was dressed in snug, faded jeans and a white knit polo shirt with an open collar that showcased his broad shoulders and tanned arms. His steady gaze held hers as he reached for his wallet, withdrew a check, and laid it on the counter.
She knew without looking that it was made out to her in the amount of three hundred dollars. “I told you last night that I didn’t want it.”
“And I told you that I don’t like owing people. Take it.”
“No.”
He shoved it under the cash register. “All right, then add it to your donation or use it for a bookmark.”
She paused for a moment, then nodded, knowing that if she kept refusing, they’d be at this all day. “Thank you. I’ll see that the hospital auxiliary gets it. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”
“There is something else.”
Kristin waited.
“Before we spoke last night, Maybelle Parker collared me.”
“Yes, I know. I saw her.”
“She said we were expected to join the other bachelors and their dates for a dinner cruise on Lake Edward in two weeks. Are you planning to go?”
She was stunned that he would even ask. “With you?”
“You did buy me.”
Kristin kept her tone even. “I did not buy you, I made a donation to the Children’s Christmas Fund. I thought you understood that.”
“So you said. But it was a pretty hefty donation. Are you sure you didn’t expect something more?”
This time she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “I have no expectations where you’re concerned. I’m not going on the cruise. But if you’re interested, by all means, feel free to ask someone else.”
“I’m not interested.” Zach returned his wallet to his back pocket. “I’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’ll need most of that time to get my aunt’s house in shape for a Realtor. I don’t have time for cruises.”
“Really?” she asked, irked again. “Would you have answered the same way if I’d said I wanted to attend?”
