grandmother, a woman Desi had met only a few times in her twenty-eight years, had earlier instructed over the phone where the extra house key was hidden. Determined not to wake up Grandma Gerda, she tramped through the overgrown grass and shrubbery along the side of the house, searching for the mark.
Success! A brightly patterned rock nestled against the wooden gate stood out under the moonlight like fluorescent paint under black light. As she’d been told, she searched along the bottom for the small stick-on box holding the house key, hoping there weren’t any nighttime creepy crawlers around. Just as she retrieved the box and opened it, the assaulting aroma of night-blooming jasmine tickled her nose. Sneezing with gusto, she dropped the key and got on her hands and knees to search for it, grateful there was a full moon.
A few seconds later, with key in hand, she emerged out of the thick overgrowth between two houses, heading for the huge wraparound porch belonging to her maternal grandmother. But not before tripping on a brick along the walkway. She lurched forward, swatting at the night for nonexistent support and letting fly a few choice words.
A bright light blinded her just as she stopped teetering and regained her balance.
“Who’s there?” A distinctly deep and masculine voice came from the vicinity of the light.
She shielded her eyes with her forearms. “I’m Mrs. Rask’s granddaughter. Who’re you?”
The light lowered, allowing Desi to see a huge shadow, making her wish she’d kept up those kickboxing classes...just in case.
“I’m Kent, Gerda’s next-door neighbor.” The man stepped closer, studying her, as though he didn’t believe her story. “I’ve never heard about a granddaughter.”
Why would she expect otherwise? Wasn’t she supposed to be the secret granddaughter? Especially since a Scandinavian stronghold like Heartlandia along the Columbia River in Oregon probably wasn’t used to people like her.
“Are you saying you’re Ester’s daughter?” His voice, a moment ago deep and intriguing, had jumped an octave higher. He must have known who her mother was...or had been.
“Yes. Could you please turn off that light and not talk so loud? I don’t want to wake my grandmother. I had no idea how long the drive from Portland to Heartlandia would be.” On a whim, and for future reference, she’d taken a detour through the big city just to see it, suspecting her father might still live there. Determined not to spend extra money for a motel, she’d made a decision to drive straight through tonight. “Took me two and a half hours. And what’s Oregon got against streetlights, anyway?” she said in a raspy whisper. “Thought I’d driven into a black hole on Highway 30 for a while there.” She fussed with the leaves that had stuck to her shirt and her hair, and brushed off the dirt from her hands, then reached out. “I’m Desi Rask, by the way.”
Stepping closer, with her eyes having adjusted to the dark again, she realized how tall the man was. At five foot nine it was hard to find many men to look up to. He had to be at least six foot three. And blond. As in Nordic-god blond. “Kent Larson.” He accepted her hand and shook it; hers felt incredibly petite inside his grasp. “Your mother used to babysit me before—”
He stopped without completing the sentence. Before she ran away from home. Yeah, Desi knew the story. Her mother, the piano-bar queen of the Midwest, had finally cleared up most of the missing pieces before she’d passed.
“Desdemona? Is that you?” a reedy voice called out. “Kent?”
Succeeding at doing what she’d hoped to avoid—waking up her grandmother—Desi turned toward the porch to face her for the first time since her mother’s last days in the hospital.
“It’s me. Your greeting committee from next door decided to interrogate me before I could let myself in.”
“That’s not it,” Kent the Viking said. “With Mrs. Rask being the mayor, I look out for her is all.”
She’d seen the doubt on his face and the hesitation to swallow her story when she’d told him who she was. But being half-black, why should she expect otherwise when she didn’t look anything like the Norseman or her equally pale grandmother, the mayor of Heartlandia?
* * *
Kent worked quickly to put two and two together. Ester Rask had been a teenager when she’d run away from home. Being only eight at the time, the same age as his son Steven now, he’d never heard the whole story. He remembered the town searching high and low for Ester without success. He also remembered that Ester had never been declared dead, just missing, and eventually, his parents had quit talking about her disappearance altogether and he’d had a new babysitter. That had to be twenty-eight years ago. Hard to believe.
Now, having run into Desdemona in the dark of night, he understood why Ester had run away—she must have been pregnant.
Gerda flipped on the porch light, and Kent got his first good look at the dark and enchanting one named Desdemona. Or Desi, as she’d introduced herself. Tall, sturdy in build, coffee-with-cream-colored skin with an extra dollop of milk, wide-set rich brown eyes, a smoothed out variation on the pointy Rask family nose, full lips and straight teeth. It had been a long time since he’d seen such an exotically beautiful woman in person and it threw him off-balance.
She wore a bright yellow top that hung off one shoulder, with the straps of a black tank top playing peekaboo from beneath. The midnight-blue jeans fit like second skin, and black flats countered her height. Wow, her outfit didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, and right now his was running wild. Loads of thick dark hair danced around her shoulders, long and full-bodied like how he’d remembered Ester’s, except Ester’s hair had been blond, nearly white-blond. Kent’s hands grew suddenly restless, his fingers itching and his mind wondering what it would be like to dig into those gorgeous waves and curls.
Even at eight he’d had a crush on his babysitter, and tonight a fresh rush of infatuation was springing up for another brand of Rask woman.
She’d introduced herself as Desi Rask, so Ester had probably never married. For some reason, maybe his general mood about marriage lately, that knowledge landed like a sad clunk in his chest.
“Are you going to come inside?” Mayor Rask asked, drawing him out of his rambling thoughts.
“Oh, no. Steven’s sleeping. I should be getting back.”
Desi didn’t hug her grandmother when she approached the porch. Instead they stood with a good three feet between them, offering polite smiles, seeming more like mere acquaintances than relatives. It didn’t feel right by a long shot, but who was he to figure out the way life should go?
“Let me get my stuff first,” Desi said, rushing back down the six porch steps toward the Ford Taurus station wagon from at least two decades back. That car had definitely seen better days.
“I’ll help you,” he said on impulse, waiting for her to open the back liftgate. There were two suitcases, a few boxes and assorted household items, including a potted plant or two. Was she moving in?
“All I need is my overnight case for now.”
Maybe she was just passing through.
“I can get whatever else I need in the morning,” she said, her alto voice already beginning to grow on him. Would she still be there by the time he got off work tomorrow?
“May
