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  He’d spent an awful lot of money on it. He sighed and poured himself a cup of joe. Courage didn’t come cheap these days.

  CHAPTER 7

  AINSLEY HELD UP the wreath to show her father. She’d put it together using fall colors and a special dried herb that Martha had suggested on her television program last week. It gave off a warm pine smell and boasted a nice dash of color. At the bottom, she’d skillfully tied a mustard-colored ribbon that pulled the whole thing together. Her father was just finishing his story about how he and Thief had nabbed some juveniles spray-painting Pointe Bridge last night and some other kid who thought it’d be funny to shave the hair off of thirteen cats.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful,” her father said as he unfolded his morning paper. “You’ve got real talent in that area.”

  Ainsley smiled. “Thank you, Daddy. I thought we’d hang it on our door the week of Thanksgiving.” She put the wreath down and joined him at the breakfast table. “More coffee?”

  “No thanks, honey. I’ve got to run.”

  “Before you go,” Ainsley said, causing her father to sit back down, “we need to discuss Thanksgiving. It’s less than three weeks away, and we still haven’t discussed who we want to invite.”

  Her father nodded. “I know. I need to make a list.”

  “And get it to me soon,” Ainsley said. “I’ve got a lot of preparation, and I can’t wait until the last minute to put these recipes together. I’ve also got to make the table decoration, and I need to know how many people to expect so I know whether or not to do a centerpiece or a table runner. And I certainly must know how large of a turkey to buy. Plus, if we have a big crowd, we’ll need to add a ham, and the glaze takes time, Daddy.”

  Her father held up his hands and laughed. “I’ll have the list to you soon.”

  “Thank you.” She stood and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good day. We’re having tortellini soup tonight.”

  She helped her father out the door, reminding this man who carried a pistol to be careful on the last step of the porch because the cement was coming loose. He smiled and waved tolerantly, and Ainsley laughed, thinking that he was probably perplexed how he could lose a wife and somehow gain a mother. Thief trotted alongside him obligingly, his tail raised haughtily in the air.

  Inside, she cleared the breakfast dishes, happy she was on schedule. She needed to go visit Mr. Lackey in the hospital. She’d bought him a sack of jelly beans, hoping that would brighten his day. She was also hoping to visit Aunt Gert before work, and if she got a move on, she’d be able to make it. Luckily, she wasn’t scheduled to come in until lunch.

  She threw the last plate in the dishwasher when she heard a knock at the door. She couldn’t imagine who it would be this early but figured it was probably Garth, coming to rescue her from some mythical danger.

  Knock, knock.

  “I’m coming!” Ainsley called. She straightened her shirt and brushed back the wisps of hair in her face before opening the door.

  “What in the world?” It was a stupid thing to say to a guest at your doorstep, and Ainsley slapped her hand over her mouth just after saying it, which probably made her look more disgraceful. Still, she couldn’t hide the shock of seeing Wolfe Boone standing in front of her.

  “What?” he replied, obviously flustered. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  Ainsley shook her head, finding it hard to form a word on her tongue. In his hands he was carrying a neatly wrapped, small brown package. She also noticed his hands were shaking terribly. She looked back up at him, and he was trying to smile, but he looked more like someone who was trying to pass off stomach cramps.

  “Hi. Do you remember me? We met at the bookstore.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  His lips trembled before he spoke, and Ainsley found it excruciatingly painful to watch the man stand there. He barked a laugh twice before attempting to speak, as if he thought it was just as absurd as she did that he was standing there. He glanced down at her with a wince and said, “I’m sorry. I brought you this.” He practically shoved the little package at her, then she almost dropped it. He lunged forward, and they hit heads.

  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his own forehead.

  She tried to smile at him, but she still couldn’t imagine why Wolfe Boone was on her doorstep. She looked down at the package. “What’s this?”

  For the first time, he looked relaxed, sticking his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh.” She stared down at it. “You showing up on my doorstep, now that’s a surprise.” Trying to avoid those deep, engaging eyes of his, she found herself staring at the red spot on his forehead. “So you came here to bring me this surprise?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And to ask you … um … to ask you …”

  Ainsley leaned forward. “Yes? To ask me …?”

  His eyes, though naturally serene, danced suddenly with anxiety. “To ask … uh …” He seemed to choke on his own words. “To ask you where you get your hair cut.”

  Ainsley laughed out loud. “To ask me where I get my hair cut?”

  He wasn’t laughing. In fact, his face looked full of dread. “Yes. Your hair always looks nice, and I need to find a good barber.”

  Ainsley couldn’t help but be amused, and she knew her smile indicated she was just that. “It’s called Foofey’s. It’s the next county over.”

  “Oh. Foofey’s. Doesn’t sound like I’d find a barber there.”

  Ainsley let another laugh escape. “No, but it’s perfect if you need a highlight or a perm.”

  He finally smiled too and self-consciously ran his fingers through his hair. “I could probably use both, but I think I’ll just keep looking for a barber.”

  “Try Howard. He’s a couple of blocks from the community center.”

  “Thanks.” He stepped back then and pointed to the package. “I hope you like it. I have to get going.”

  “Okay. Bye. And thanks.” She couldn’t imagine what was in the package.

  He turned and walked off, then suddenly spun on his heel and came back. Ainsley barely had time to digest anything when she found herself staring up at him again. And this time, she looked in his eyes.

  “There is one more thing.”

  “Oh?” Her voice cracked.

  “I wanted to ask you … out.”

  “Out?”

  “On a date?”

  “A date?”

  “Yes. You go on dates, don’t you?”

  “Uh …” Now that was a tricky question. “Uh …”

  He nervously rubbed the red spot on his forehead as he waited for an answer, and Ainsley felt sweat peek out at her temples even as she stood in the cold. He wasn’t actually asking her out on a date, was he?

  She finally managed to disengage her eyes from him, and before she knew it, she was saying, “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “No.”

  “I got it the first time.”

  “You just can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “You just can’t come here and ask me out on a date. Because, you see, I’ve been angry with you for a long time. I have to wear vampire teeth because of you, and when you come and do something so foolish as to stand here and ask me out on a date, well, then that flies in the face of everything I’m accustomed to. I’ve despised you a long time, you see, and if I went out on a date then I’d have to forgive you, and I’m just not ready to do that yet, even if you are handsome and do have gorgeous eyes. Do you know what I mean?” She said it as if she’d just explained how to do a box pleat on denim.

  His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wide with what seemed to be an equal measure of perplexity and hope.

  “Close your mouth. You’ll swallow a fly.”

  He did, slowly backed up, and gave a little nod before hurrying off to his Jeep parked on the street. Ainsley watched him go, then stepped back inside the
house. She threw back her head at the absurdity of it all. Did Wolfe Boone actually just ask her out? Did she actually just tell him he had gorgeous eyes?

  She then realized she was holding his package. She timidly took it to the table, set it down, and stared at it as if it might just do a song and dance. Instead it lay there, perfectly still, beckoning her to open it. It was a charming little package, tied up with string. Hardly anyone she knew used string anymore. The package was addressed to Wolfe, but other than that it had no indication of who or where it was from.

  “Well, it’s not going to open itself,” she mumbled, finding a pair of scissors and then returning to the table. She cut the string with great care, then carefully opened one side and slid the contents out of the package. She took one look at it and burst into tears.

  Wolfe’s hands shook so hard he could barely hang on to his steering wheel. His Jeep sputtered along, still not quite warmed up. Wolfe was equally numb. He drove the speed limit until he found himself at the church.

  Before he even knew it, he was inside, making his way to the basement where the reverend’s office was.

  “Reverend?” he said quietly.

  The reverend was standing at his bookshelf. He turned, a surprised look on his face. “Well, Wolfe! I didn’t hear you come in! What a nice surprise. How are you enjoying that sack of books I loaned you?” His pleasant expression turned concerned very quickly. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t I look all right?”

  “Not really.” The reverend laid down a book he was holding and walked toward Wolfe. “Are you sick?”

  “No.”

  “Has someone offended you?”

  “No.”

  “Well what is it? You look terrible.”

  Wolfe fell into the old sofa next to the wall and said, “I’m in love.”

  Aunt Gert grabbed a tissue and then handed the box to Ainsley, who grabbed three. “Oh, dear heart, that was so precious. I haven’t heard that story in years. It was my favorite, you know.”

  Ainsley patted Aunt Gert’s hand. “I knew how much hearing this story would mean to you.”

  “More than you know,” Aunt Gert said. She had little energy left, but she thumbed through the book, examining the front and back cover, feeling every part of it with her fingers. Ainsley watched with sheer joy, so grateful that her aunt was able to hear that story again. For a long moment, peaceful silence filled the room. Finally, Aunt Gert set the book down on her lap. “Dear, how are you?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m fine.”

  “You look troubled.”

  “Troubled? How do you know that? I’ve just been sitting here.”

  “Now dear, you know I’ve always been able to sense these things about you. Many times your cute little face gets all bunched up into a scowl, but even when that doesn’t happen, when you’re trying to hide it, you give off this sort of unmistakable signal.”

  Ainsley crossed her arms. “Well, apparently I’m giving off some sort of signal that causes really freaky things to happen.” She looked at Aunt Gert’s inquisitive face. She didn’t want to explain that last statement, so she cut off the looming question by asking, “Do you believe in signs?”

  “What sort of signs, dear?”

  “Signs. Like something telling you something.”

  “You mean, like a sign from God.”

  “Sure. Right. A sign from God.”

  “I believe in those kinds of signs, yes.”

  “Yeah, well, I think I just got one this morning. And I am not happy about it. But I just can’t imagine why else God would—” She glanced at Gert. “I just think He’s trying to tell me something by doing something else, sort of a reverse psychology thing, you know?”

  With her hands gently folded in her lap, Gert’s soft eyes met Ainsley’s. “Oh, honey, God isn’t much into playing games. He tends to be rather forthright.”

  Ainsley stared at the cold hospital tile. “Why can’t He send an angel with instructions, like He did to Mary when she conceived Jesus?”

  Gert chuckled. “Well, honey, I think that’s because that was one of those important times in history when there could be no margin for error and no room for a human interpretation. We humans always tend to miss the point.”

  With a hefty sigh, Ainsley nodded. “I suppose that’s true. But the absurdity of this man on my doorstep asking me—” Ainsley stopped herself.

  “Asking you what?”

  “Nothing.” She stood and kissed Aunt Gert’s cheek. “You look good today. You have some color in your cheeks.”

  “Oh, that must be the warm rays of heaven growing nearer.”

  “If you’re going to die, could you please be less excited about it?” Ainsley smiled down at her a little. “There are those of us who have to stay here without you, you know.”

  Gert laughed as heartily as she could. “Oh, you are a woman after my own heart.”

  “See you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything.”

  “I will,” Gert assured her. “And Ainsley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Follow your heart, not some sign you’re unsure of. All right? God gave you a good heart full of wisdom.”

  Ainsley just smiled and turned, dismissing her aunt’s advice, though she knew better. But how could she possibly know what was best? Ainsley couldn’t trust her heart any more than she could trust a “sign.”

  Outside the hospital, Ainsley sat down on a bench next to a nurse who was puffing away on a cigarette. They exchanged friendly smiles, but then both sank back into their own private thoughts. By the end of the nurse’s cigarette, Ainsley knew what she had to do. And she knew one other thing: The sign she’d received this morning was unmistakable.

  She held her breath, half out of nervousness, half because of the smell. She stepped carefully across the tile of the small lobby, avoiding the yellow puddles that seemed to be everywhere, apparently from the small black poodle sitting in the corner with its owner.

  Ginger, the red-haired receptionist, looked up and flashed a tolerant smile. She’d never liked Ainsley, mostly because Ainsley was the only thing standing between her and a life full of bliss with Garth Twyne.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t Ainsley Parker, here to bless us with her presence. What brings you to this side of town?”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes. ‘This’ side of town was twelve blocks away from ‘her’ side of town. “I need to speak with Garth.”

  “He’s busy. He isa veterinarian, you know.”

  “You don’t say,” Ainsley said, placing her fists on her hips. “Well, it happens to be important, and it won’t take much time. Can you get him, please?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s in surgery. You just don’t walk in on a doctor in surgery. His patients, not you, are his number-one priority.”

  Ainsley was just about to retort when Garth walked by and saw her through the window. “Ainsley,” he said through his typical goofy grin, “to what do I owe this pleasure?” He went around to the door and let her in.

  “Hi, Garth,” Ainsley said, shooting Ginger a look. “Can we talk?”

  “Talk? Ooooh. This sounds serious. Am I in trouble?” He chided like a little boy, and Ainsley felt the usual tension form in her chest, born of aggravation.

  “Somewhere private.” Ainsley looked him directly in the eyes, trying to get across to him that she was serious about why she was here.

  His thin, blond eyebrows rose. “Oh? My day is getting better already. Follow me.”

  Ainsley dragged her feet as she followed Garth to his office, a small, smelly room with cheap posters of dogs everywhere, not a single cat to be seen. Garth made no bones about it: He hated cats. He would practice on them but not happily, and most people in town finally just got dogs or drove forty miles to Dr. Harold, the next closest vet. And yet amazingly this town still had too many cats.

  “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing toward a stained chair in the corner. “May I get you somethin
g?” Ainsley wanted to scream at his formality.

  “I’d rather stand, thank you.” Ainsley watched Garth shut the door and walk to the other side of his desk.

  “Suit yourself,” he said dryly. He sat down in his own chair with marked emphasis, then looked up at her, clicking the pen in his hand. “So?”

  The small of her back grew suddenly damp, and every word she needed to say seemed stuck in her throat. Could this really be what she was supposed to do? It had to be. Because the other option was … was no option at all.

  “Yes?” His pen clicked faster.

  “I, um,” she stuttered, trying to sound light, “I …”

  “Yes, I have the ‘I’ part. It’s about you. It usually is.” He flashed a smile, but Ainsley didn’t miss the insult. She supposed years of similar rejection might make one a little less sensitive.

  Ainsley tried to smile as she regained control of her flapping tongue. “What I’m trying to say is … is … um …”

  “What is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Garth leaned back in his chair, dropping his pen to the desk. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, to you.”

  “Yes to me.” He shook his head. “I’m not following.”

  “Yes to your offer.”

  “What offer?”

  “To take me out on a date.” The words seemed to echo as if she’d shouted them in the Grand Canyon. She watched Garth carefully. His expression barely changed, except for a small twitch at the side of his mouth, where a smile was trying to escape.

  Garth folded his arms across his chest and rocked back and forth in his chair, staying silent and looking Ainsley up and down. Ainsley tapped her foot and threw her arms in the air. “Well, say something, for crying out loud.”

  The smile finally won over. “I didn’t ask you out, Ainsley.”

  “Of course you did.” Ainsley forced calmness. “Two years ago. Don’t you remember, right outside the restaurant? It was a cold day.” She then forced a smile. “So my answer is yes.”

  Garth chuckled, then laughed, then snorted, sneezed, coughed, snorted again, wiped his eyes, and then said, “I don’t think so.”