Love at Last (Finding Love Book 6) Page 2

  Jase looked to his left. Fear radiated from the figure behind the dark sunglasses. The slim fingers that had been holding the magazine were now gripping the armrest like a lifeline. Without thinking how she might feel about it, he stretched his arm across the aisle and put his hand over hers. Her skin was clammy and ice cold. She jerked slightly, and then her head turned toward him. A shaky smile formed on her pale lips.

  “It’s childish, isn’t it?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper. “To be so afraid of a little wind and rain?”

  “Everyone’s afraid of something. Some fears are just easier to hide.”

  There was a sudden shuddering of the plane followed by two hard bumps, and then they were on the ground. The woman flexed her fingers, and Jase removed his hand.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said lightly, trying to ignore the fact that his hand felt strangely empty.

  “It was bad enough. Thanks for coming to my rescue. I was seconds away from a meltdown.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.”

  When the plane arrived at the terminal, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his laptop bag. All around him people were moving, getting their items from the overhead compartments and crowding the narrow aisle. Because he disliked the feeling of being steered off the plane like cattle, he allowed the elderly couple next to him to leave and resumed his seat. Once the aisle was clear, Jase slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. Across from him, his companion was also rising to her feet. He noticed that she was nearly as tall as he was.

  “After you,” he said politely.

  She smiled and stepped into the aisle. As she did so, her head brushed against the overhead compartment. Jase’s involuntary lunge to catch her hat failed. He picked it up off the floor and held it out. Wavy, brown hair with lighter strands of gold tumbled past her shoulders. Without the wide brim of the hat hiding her face, he could see nicely shaped eyes behind the smoky gray lenses of her sunglasses.

  “Thank you, again,” she said, taking it from him.

  “You’re welcome, again.”

  He watched as she tucked every strand of her lovely hair back under the hat and made sure her glasses were in place. Almost as if she didn’t want to be recognized. His writer’s imagination kicked in. Was she on the run from someone?

  As he followed her into the airport terminal, he came up with some possible explanations, all of which were unlikely to be anywhere close to the truth. Any chance he had of finding out was lost when she disappeared almost immediately into the lady’s restroom. Shrugging inwardly, he continued on his way to the baggage claim area. He’d just have to stick with the most interesting scenario he created: she was an international spy on a secret mission.

  * * * * *

  Twinges of guilt ate at Rosemary as she stood in front of the mirror of the empty bathroom trying to pinch some color into her cheeks. The man on the plane had been so nice, and she’d repaid that courtesy by bolting like a rabbit trying to evade a fox.

  “You didn’t have to be so rude,” she muttered to herself. “When did the innocent girl who believed in the goodness of people turn into a suspicious and cynical woman? Neither your father nor your grandmother would be proud of that.”

  When she came out, she found herself looking to see if the man might have waited for her. It was a silly thing to do. She’d made her feelings clear enough. He’d probably written her off already, and who could blame him?

  Her thoughts went back to those harrowing moments on the plane. Experiencing bad weather thousands of feet in the air had elevated her fear of storms tenfold. How had he known she was scared? And why had he cared enough to do anything about it?

  Unlike other men she met, he didn’t try to capitalize on the situation. At the slightest movement of her fingers, he released her. The eyes she’d thought would be blue were instead a brilliant green. They carried an impish twinkle that seemed to imply their owner didn’t take himself or anything else too seriously. But it was his warm, friendly smile that made the deepest impression. It wasn’t anything like the ones she usually received.

  By the time she collected her luggage and picked up her rental car, the afternoon was well advanced. She spent the half hour drive to St. Marys enjoying the unfamiliar position of having no one to please but herself. With each passing mile, the knot of tension in her stomach seemed to lessen.

  Her grandmother’s death the winter after she turned twelve ended the visits to the sleepy coastal town. Rosemary had been heartbroken when her mother told her the little house on Hibiscus Lane had been sold. It had taken thirteen years to fulfill the vow she made to herself, but finally what she wanted so badly was in her possession. Maybe within the walls of the house her grandmother loved, she could rekindle the music and find the girl who’d somehow lost her way.

  As she drove along streets whose names were familiar, she found that the city of her memories had grown and changed just as she had. The family-owned grocery store where she and her grandmother had done their weekly shopping was gone as was the Galaxy Skate Center where she spent quite a few Saturday afternoons.

  She could remember standing at the railing as the older kids took the floor for the couples’ skate. The lights would dim and the huge silver ball hanging from the ceiling would start to spin, sending out a kaleidoscope of colors in all directions. As she watched the pairs move in time to the music, each one appearing to inhabit their own magical world, she tried to imagine what it would be like to put her arms around a boy’s neck and have his hands touching her waist. From her pre-teen perspective, there didn’t seem to be any point to it.

  Her grandmother had laughed when Rosemary voiced this opinion on the way home. “One day, Rosie, you’ll want to be in the arms of the man you love. There’s nothing like it in the whole world.” Until you find out that the man you love has been holding another woman in his arms when you weren’t around. That sort of ruined it.

  When she turned on Hibiscus Lane, she was relieved to find that things hadn’t changed nearly as much. The trees were taller, but the narrow street with its row of almost identical frame houses stood as if in defiance of time. As she parked in front of her grandmother’s one-car garage, she knew what she was going to take care of first. The unattractive dark brown paint the former owners had chosen to use on the house would have to go.

  The realtor who assisted her with the purchase had left the key in the mailbox. Rosemary retrieved it and let herself inside. A swarm of memories flooded her brain. In her mind, she could smell the aroma of lemon furniture polish and hear her grandmother’s voice calling to her from the kitchen. She walked slowly through the rooms, empty of furnishings, but full of laughter and long-remembered conversations.

  Several hours later, she was pulling into the parking lot of a bed and breakfast inn. The plan was to stay here while she purchased the necessary items to make the house livable. She would seek the advice of the realtor about who to get to paint the exterior. As for the interior, she was looking forward to doing that herself.

  She was removing her luggage from the trunk of the car when she felt her phone vibrate. It was most likely her mother. In the excitement of getting to St. Marys, Rosemary had forgotten to make the ‘I got here safely’ call. One glance at the screen was enough to know she was right.

  “You forgot to text me when your plane landed.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I got into town about two hours ago.”

  “I wish you would’ve come here first. You were already in Atlanta anyway, and we haven’t seen you in months.”

  “I’ll try to get up to Kennesaw before I go back. Or you could come to St. Marys. I’m sure Martin and Cedric would enjoy seeing where you grew up.”

  “We can’t get away right now. Cedric has so many things going on with school.”

  Rosemary rolled her eyes. Poor Cedric. Her mother was always using him as an excuse to get out of doing something she didn’t want to do. Her half-brother had been born when Rosemary
was in high school. Her mother and stepfather had been thrilled to have a son, and she was happy they had someone else to focus on. In spite of being the center of attention, Cedric was surprisingly unspoiled and his easygoing personality made him fun to be around. At eight years old, he was by far her favorite family member.

  This sentiment wasn’t meant to imply that her parents were bad parents or anything like that. They just didn’t understand her. Her mother’s explanation for this disconnect was that Rosemary was free-spirited like her father. Her stepfather preferred more blunt terms: she was too idealistic. It would be better if she was more down-to-earth and practical. What they didn’t seem to realize is that she wouldn’t have made it very far in the music business if she wasn’t somewhat level-headed. Didn’t they think it was possible to be both creative and sensible?

  Over the last few years, her visits to Kennesaw had become more of a duty than a pleasure. The only person who seemed happy to see her was Cedric. Her parents said they were pleased by what she’d achieved, but they hadn’t attended a concert in years and talked about her career as if it was a phase she would eventually outgrow. It made her feel like being a country music singer was a fad and had no merit on its own.

  “Can you believe that Sullivan’s Grocery is gone?”

  “I’m not surprised. That place was a dive when I lived there.”

  Again Rosemary’s eyes rose to the cloudless sky. Sullivan’s had never been a dive. It had been a small store peopled by friendly staff who remembered your name and what kind of cookies you liked without having to be reminded. Bigger and newer wasn’t necessarily better.

  “I need to get checked in to my hotel. I’ll call you back later.”

  The matter of getting settled in her room didn’t take long. After ordering a salad from Dom’s (a place she was thrilled to find was still in business), she stretched out on the comfortable bed with its old-fashioned wedding ring quilt and made a list of what she needed to do. It would be a labor of love to restore the house to how it had been when Nora Collins was alive.

  Chapter Two

  Jase closed his laptop and pushed away from the desk, a look of frustration forming on his face. It was hard to stop writing when he was on a roll. He’d finally reached a point where everything was coming together, and now he had to put his ideas on ice for a few days. Instead of spending the weekend completing a few chapters in his book, he’d be doing two things he disliked: dressing up and wearing shoes.

  This circumstance had come about when one of the guys in his writers’ group called this morning in something of a panic. Randy’s brother was in the hospital recovering from food poisoning and in no shape to take part in a wedding. Jase agreed to fill in for one of the groomsmen. He was supposed to be at Men’s Warehouse in thirty minutes for a fitting. He felt sorry for the seamstress responsible for trying to alter a tuxedo that had already been sized to fit a man several inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier.

  Grabbing his keys off the counter, he locked the door and headed to the garage. Would he ever be making his own wedding plans? Jase definitely wanted to share his life with someone. He had only to look at his brother, newly married and expecting his first child, to know the happiness finding one’s true love could bring. His search for his own happy ending hadn’t yet materialized. In spite of an active dating life, he hadn’t yet found the person who made all the others insignificant. Had living so much of his life in a fictional world of his own creation made his expectations of love unrealistic?

  The characters in his books fell into line and did what they were told. They didn’t deviate from the story arc he created for them. If he didn’t like something, he could change it. Managing a relationship with a real person was much more difficult and involved. It was a continuous process of give and take.

  The fitting at Men’s Warehouse for the aforementioned tuxedo didn’t take nearly as long as Jase thought. When he arrived home, he noticed two pairs of jean-clad legs sticking out from underneath a faded red ’69 Dodge Charger. One pair was substantially shorter than the other which meant it was Samuel under there with his brother. Quinn and his secretary’s son had been working on their car project for over a year now, slowly replacing almost every single part of its engine.

  Jase crossed over to stand next to the longer pair of legs. “I thought you were heading to Macon for the monster truck show.”

  Quinn’s voice floated out to him. “Dr. Chandler’s wife went into labor an hour ago so I’m on call. That means I can’t leave town. We’re waiting on Ellen to get home, and then we’re going to see a movie. Winnie and Isobel are coming with us.”

  Jase moved over and nudged the smaller foot. “Samuel, no holding hands with Winnie in the theater, okay? She’s my girlfriend.”

  Embarrassed laughter was Samuel’s response.

  “You might want to remind Winnie of that,” advised Quinn. “Her eight-year-old brain seems to have forgotten.”

  “I didn’t think I’d be replaced so soon.”

  “Or at all.”

  “That, too,” Jase agreed. “I must be slipping.”

  His brother scooted out from under the car. A few seconds later, a dark-headed boy did the same. “You said it; not me. Samuel and I are about to break for a late lunch. Wanna join us?”

  “No, thanks. I need to finish something before I head over to the church for Randy’s rehearsal.”

  “That’s right. You get to be in another wedding.”

  “This is my fourth in the last year. Maybe I should start charging for my services.”

  “Look at it this way. You’re in a setting tailor made for someone with your talents. Make the most of it. You’ve gone almost two months without a girlfriend. I’m starting to get worried.”

  The only person Jase had been interested in lately was the woman he met on the plane. They exchanged fewer than thirty words and yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Maybe it was time to get worried. “I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

  Jase made his way into the cottage sitting behind his brother’s house. This is where he’d lived since Quinn and Ellen got married. They both insisted that he didn’t have to move out of Quinn’s house, but he wasn’t about to intrude on a pair of newlyweds. In spite of their protests, they needed their privacy. Now that Ellen was pregnant, it was even more important that they have the house to themselves.

  * * * * *

  Rosemary put down the paint brush and stepped back to look at the robin-egg-blue wall in front of her. “I think I finally found the right shade, Ambrose.” The black cat licking his paws from the safety of the hallway stopped to look in her direction. “It only took four trips to the paint store, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

  She’d discovered Ambrose living under the shed in the backyard. He’d been thrilled to be given some food and even happier to be invited inside the house. From the condition she found him in, Rosemary suspected he’d been on his own for some time. Her plan to take him to a shelter was easily put aside. The practical side of her (the one her parents didn’t think she had) reminded her that getting a pet was problematic for several reasons, the most obvious of which was who would take care of Ambrose when she left.

  As she poured more paint in the tray, she heard the pealing of the doorbell. It was probably Mrs. Jenkins with another delicious home-cooked meal. Rosemary had been delighted to find the lady who’d lived next door to her grandmother all those years ago was still there. Now in her late sixties, she was as energetic as ever.

  “Just a minute,” Rosemary called out as she walked over to peer through the blinds. A smile pulled at her mouth at the sight of the kinky, white hair, brightly-hued floral blouse and matching pants with razor sharp creases. Opening the door, she waved her neighbor inside. “Good afternoon.”

  “I brought you some cabbage rolls, Rosie.”

  “Thank you so much. I haven’t had those in years.”

  The older lady’s nose twitched. “Smells like you’re d
oing some painting.”

  “I’m working on the dining room.”

  “It’s a good thing I came over. I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I had a bagel this morning.”

  Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “It’s after four. It’s not good to go without eating, Rosie. Your grandmother would have a fit if she could see you now, so thin and pale.”

  “I’m not so thin anymore. Thanks to you, I’ve gained six pounds in the two weeks I’ve been here.”

  “You could do with ten or fifteen more. I don’t understand this fixation your generation has with being skinny. A man needs something to hold on to.”

  Rosemary’s thinness had nothing to do with a fixation, and everything to do with a nonstop schedule and dealing with the betrayal of two people she mistakenly believed actually cared about her.

  “If you keep bringing me food, it’ll be more like twenty.”

  Mrs. Jenkins carried the pan into the kitchen and sat it on the stove. “With my kids grown and living elsewhere, I don’t have anyone to cook for anymore. Having you here is like having Nora back. I didn’t notice it so much when you were younger, but you look like her.”

  Rosemary smiled. “Do I? You’re the first person to tell me that.”

  “I can still remember when she moved in. Your grandfather was alive then. We used to talk while we hung up our laundry in the backyard. She’s the one who convinced me to plant a vegetable garden.”

  “I used to love helping her tie up tomato plants, dig up potatoes and pick green beans. When she made jelly, the whole house smelled like strawberries.”

  “Nora was always doing something.”

  “You’re right; she wasn’t much for resting. Even when she was watching television, she was doing embroidery or knitting. I still have the tablecloth and napkins she made for me. They’re packed away in my hope chest.”