A Wedding in Apple Grove (4 page)

She glanced over at her dad and watched the proprietary way he slid his hand to the widow's waist. The signs were there for a blind woman to see, so how had she missed that particular fact? In a moment of clarity, she realized it was because she'd been so wrapped up in her own little world, merely existing in between Jimmy's visits, that she'd kept her emotions hidden—like sorrow and pain—but the downside was she also didn't experience happiness or joy. Face it: up until today, she'd been a workaholic with an empty life. She had walked a straight path and kept her emotions in check most of the time—except for her temper. She had a hair-trigger temper. She had a feeling that was all about to change.

When she looked over at Dan, her gaze collided with his and she sensed that he'd been watching her. There was no doubt in her mind that they had a definite spark that could lead to something amazing. She wouldn't see her on-again, off-again boyfriend for a few more months and, not for the first time, wondered what he did—and who took her place in Jimmy's life back in the city—during those long months they spent apart. Her stomach clenched as the cold truth slithered into her belly. Maybe it was time she started living. She definitely wanted to get to know Dan Eagan better.

“Melanie Culpepper has the most adorable twin toddlers,” Miss Trudi was saying when Meg dragged her gaze from Dan's.

“Boys,” Mitch added with a glance in Honey B.'s direction.

Meg wondered if she was the only one who saw the longing in Honey B.'s eyes or the fire burning in the sheriff's. Why was the man so hardheaded about courting Honey B.? It was clear to everyone in town that they were perfect for one another. “Melanie owns the Knitting Room,” Meg added. “Our local Internet café. She had to close up her shop when the twins were born, but she's thinking of starting up a knitting circle during the day and keeping the Internet café going at night.”

Dan looked skeptical. “My grandmother knits, but my mom doesn't. Is it that popular around here?”

He was looking at Meg when he asked, so she answered, “You'd be surprised. There are women everywhere who like to knit or crochet.”

He shrugged. “I don't know of any.”

“But you're a guy,” Meg said, as if that explained it all.

Dan's smile was like a magnet, and a few of the unattached females in town wandered over until they were surrounded by women, the men having stepped back to make room for the swirl of skirts and waft of perfume. She introduced him to women between the ages of eighteen and eighty and stood back and watched the way he chatted and smiled with everyone.

“Small towns are a lot different than the suburban area where I grew up.”

“I'd love to hear all about it,” Peggy said, tugging on Dan's arm to draw him away from Meg and toward the empty chairs.

He didn't resist, and to Meg's dismay, she felt the green monster of envy rear her ugly head. She'd just met the man, and although he'd been the one to make the first move, she'd taken it up a notch. But that didn't explain the feelings swirling around inside of her, other than the fact that so many of her emotions had been bottled up for too long, waiting for a promise from Jimmy that was never coming. It was easier to accept than the reality that she'd fallen hard and fast the moment their eyes met.

“Quite a catch, isn't he?” Miss Trudi hooked her arm with Meg's. “Daniel's a hard worker and honest to the core,” the older woman continued. “You can trust him to keep his word.”

Meg nodded and said, “He seems to be enjoying himself, getting to know the good people of Apple Grove.”

Joe Mulcahy walked over carrying a plate with a slice of green cake and cream-colored icing. Meg was laughing as she held out her hand. “Thanks, Pop… it really is green!”

He shook his head. “Apparently Edie's favorite kind of cake is pistachio pudding cake.”

Miss Trudi joined in their laughter and added, “Mrs. Parrish had the devil of a time convincing Peggy and Katie to create the wedding cake of Edie's dreams when they found out the recipe came off the back of a pudding box.”

Meg held the plate close and sniffed at it. “Smells OK.” She cut off a tiny bite with the side of her fork and put it in her mouth. “I wasn't expecting the pistachio flavor, but it is delicious.” She was polishing off the last bite when Dan walked back over.

“Was that cake?” Dan asked.

His aunt patted his arm before hooking her arm through his. “Why don't we go on over to the dessert table and I'll get you a slice.”

He looked over his shoulder at Meg and called out, “Don't leave without me!”

Meg felt the heat of her dad's gaze on her. When she lifted her eyes, he was waiting to speak. “Why would he say something like that?”

Meg could either tell the truth or fib… and five minutes later her dad would call her out on it. She looked over at the table and the rapidly shrinking cake and sighed. “We uh… that is… when he caught me, I… uh.”

Her dad crossed her arms and stared down at her. Not a good sign. Time to fess up. “He kissed me.”

“Really? I might have to change my opinion of him.” Her father's stare turned to a glare. She'd swear she saw steam coming out of his ears. Rather than get into it with her dad at her friend's wedding, she backed away declaring, “Would you look at the time? Gotta go, Pop. See you at home!”

She waved in Dan's direction, but she wasn't sure if he saw her leaving. Self-preservation had her hotfooting it down the road; no way was she going to sit next to her dad on the ride home and listen to him asking what a woman her age was thinking throwing herself at a man, a complete stranger. But after five minutes of walking, she had to stop to take her sandals off and walk the rest of the way barefoot. She smiled at the emerald green toe polish, her sisters' handiwork and not her normal plain-Jane look.

The ache in her arches had her feeling sorry for her poor feet, which were not used to high heels. Her normal footwear consisted of three different pairs of work boots… all of them worn down at the heels. Funny thing, until she'd met Dan, she'd been starting to feel the way her boot heels looked.

She heard the sound of a car coming up fast behind her. Figuring it was one of her neighbors, she didn't bother to look over her shoulder. When the car pulled up alongside of her, she glanced over and was surprised to see that it was Dan behind the wheel.

“I thought you were going to wait for me.”

She couldn't decipher what emotions were hiding behind those dark gray eyes. “I'm sorry, I kind of told my dad about you kissing me and then he got that look on his face.”

Dan nodded. “The ‘what were you thinking' look?”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. “Exactly.”

“It's a dad thing,” he agreed. “So… do you want a ride home?”

She grinned and reached for the door handle. “Sure,” she said, climbing inside. “Thanks, Dan.”

He smiled at her and a shiver raced up her spine. “You cold?”

“No,” she insisted. “It's warm for this time of year—feels like summer.”

“So where to?” he asked. “Is it far?”

She laughed, and it felt good. “Didn't I tell you that nothing is that far away in Apple Grove?”

He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “You did. But exactly how much farther?”

“About two miles ahead on the left, you'll want to turn onto Goose Pond Road, then right onto Cherry Valley Lane.”

“OK, so you live on Cherry Valley?”

“We live on Peat Moss Road.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, why?”

He shook his head. “No reason.”

He glanced down at his gauges and then up ahead. “Goose Pond?”

“Uh-huh. Left turn up there.” She pointed to a spot in the distance and he signaled, although why, she had no idea; there wasn't anyone on the road behind them.

Dan turned and started looking for their right-hand turn. She fell silent, not really sure how to get back to the earlier camaraderie. He stopped to look at her before making the turn onto her street. “I thought you were kidding.”

“What's so strange about the name of my road?”

“Uh, nothing. It's just so rural.”

She laughed. “More than half of Licking County is farmland.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I saw that on the drive in.”

Meg shrugged. “I suppose the street names in your city were all named after important people.”

“Dead presidents.”

She couldn't think of anything more boring than naming your town's streets after former presidents.

“That's our house—last one on the left.”

Dan pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse and noticed the barn out back as they were getting out. “You wouldn't happen to have an old clunker just waiting for someone to restore her in that barn, would you?”

Every single hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “How did you know?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “You're serious?”

She smiled. “My great-grandfather's 1929 Model A pickup.”

His entire demeanor changed; gone was the responsible mature man she'd met when he kept her from falling, and in his place was the eight-year-old who couldn't wait for Christmas morning to unwrap his presents. “I have got to see it.”

“Dad never had time to work on it; he was too busy keeping the business going, and then after mom…”

“What?”

She shook her head; she hadn't meant to say anything, so she glossed over it and motioned for him to follow. He followed, as eager as a puppy. “What kind of shape is it in?”

“Not bad, considering its age and the fact that my great-grandfather drove it every day until he parked it in the barn, where it's been ever since. It needed a lot of work and with the nature of our family business, we don't have a lot of spare time.”

“I'm sure you heard back there that I love cars—it's in the blood.”

“You should talk to my dad; he's car-crazy.”

Meg slid the side door open and flipped on the light. The soft glow of the incandescent bulbs hanging from the rafters shone down on the black-tarped mound off to the side. Waiting until Dan was standing beside her, she grabbed the closest corner and pulled on the tarp.

Dan's low whistle of appreciation gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. He was a lot like her dad in his love for classic and antique cars. The way he looked over his shoulder at her, waiting for her nod of permission to touch, just added to the positives that were making it hard to ignore her fascination with the man.

“This could be a beauty.”

“My dad has pictures of it when it was new. My great-grandfather bought it in 1933, so he wasn't the original owner, but he had it all his life. My dad got to ride in it, but it was off the road a long time before he got his license. It's one of his dreams to restore it and get it back on the road.”

“I don't blame him,” Dan said, his look solemn. “This would be an amazing project to get my hands on.”

She nodded to the tarp and he grabbed the opposite corner and helped her cover the pickup. “Why don't you ask him if you can help?”

“I might just do that.”

Walking to the house, she said, “I know you got to have a piece of cake, but did you ever get that cup of coffee? I got so caught up introducing you around… and then when Mitch started telling you about my misspent youth, I forgot all about it.”

He nodded. “I did have a cup, but that was awhile ago.”

“Come on inside. I'll make some.”

While she brewed coffee, he made himself at home at the scarred oak farm table. “Do you think he'll be back soon?”

“He would have to take the Widow Murphy home first.”

“Why do you call her that?”

Meg shrugged and wiped her hands on a flour sack dish towel that was so thin it didn't really dry much, but her mom had bought them, and she couldn't bring herself to consign them to the rag bag yet. She opened the antique copper cookie jar that had stood on the counter since her great-grandmother Molly had set it there. Reaching in, she selected two kinds of cookies—chocolate chip and peanut butter, nothing but the best—and put them on a plate. “Because she is.”

“A widow?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why don't you call her Mary?”

She shrugged. “As far back as I can remember, folks in town called her that. The name just sort of stuck.”

“Once you make a name for yourself in Apple Grove—good or bad—can you ever change it?”

Meg took the time to think about it and tried to answer honestly, sensing that what she said would be important to Dan's understanding and expectations of the town. “Not that I've ever heard of, but hey, it could happen. One small whisper could start a roar—especially if Miss Trudi is behind it.”

As she'd hoped, he smiled at the mention of his great-aunt. “She really loves getting into the thick of things.”

It was Meg's turn to smile as she set out the plate of cookies and steaming mugs. “Real milk or two percent?”

“Real if you have it.”

“Sugar?”

“Great, thanks.” As he prepared his coffee, she noted that he used two heaping spoons of sugar and two drops of milk. She noticed things like that—always had, always would.

She watched him bring the blue enamel cup close enough to blow across the surface to cool it. He sipped, closed his eyes, and sighed. “That's the best cup of coffee I've had in days.”

“Thanks.” She pushed the yellow-ware plate closer. “Have a cookie. Grandma's recipes can't be beat.”

***

Dan noticed the way Megan bit her bottom lip when she was deep in thought. Megan Mulcahy had thrown him for a loop from the moment she'd fallen off the fence into his arms. The image of her cradled against his heart filled him.
Mine
, his heart whispered.
Whoa!
his head shouted. Don't get carried away… isn't that what happened the last time? But nothing about Meg reminded him of his ex—they were light years apart in temperament, stature, looks, and personality. He had no worries in that regard; why not follow his heart? He could still pull back if things got too hot too quickly. With Meg, he had a feeling they might.