The Proposal at Siesta Key (6 page)

Ignoring the way her posture stiffened in the face of his candor,
he continued. “So, I think it's safe to say that I've been living on borrowed time for quite a while now. No one has mentioned that they're going to do anything very drastic, but it would be foolish of me to imagine that I could live my life talking about my accident and injury and think that the Lord was never going to give me another hurdle to jump over.”

“But still, it must be hard.”

He paused, gazing into her blue eyes again, realizing that it had been a mighty long time since anyone had dared to be so honest with him.

It had been an even longer time since he'd been honest with himself about his fears. As the years passed, and he'd become more adept at retelling his story, he'd unintentionally begun to gloss over his feelings, preferring instead to act as if he didn't have any problems. As if he was constantly grateful. Maybe it was Penny's sympathetic look, or maybe it was because, for the first time in a very long time, he was being made to sit still and reflect on the journey he'd had. Whatever the reason, he was feeling inclined to be completely honest.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “It is. But at least now I know what is going to happen. The questioning and wondering is over. I won't fear the worst.”

“I can understand that. It is a difficult thing, I think, to always be fearing the worst.”

Something in her tone compelled him to stare at her more closely. Shadows filled her eyes and a bit of color had drained from her face, making him guess that she was thinking about something far more difficult than his lost leg. He wondered what it was. For a second, he thought about asking her. He knew he was adept at talking to strangers about their problems, offering advice. Counseling them. But he wasn't comfortable doing that
now. She obviously had her guard up. Furthermore, they were no doubt going to be in each other's company many hours over the coming weeks.

It was better to simply nod. Let her have her privacy.

Better to keep some distance between them. The last thing he wanted to happen was to form a true friendship with her.

If he did that, then where would that leave them?

I
t was almost seven by the time Penny walked up her five porch steps—which her father carefully painted dark forest green every couple of months—and pulled the key out of her pocket to unlock the front door.

The moment she turned the handle, she braced herself. Ever since she'd said good-bye to Miss Beverly and walked the four blocks home, Penny had been preparing how she would describe her first day to her parents. She expected them to be waiting in the entryway, nervously wringing their hands together, ready to pepper her with a thousand questions.

She was going to have to be sure to calm her mother down, first. No doubt Mamm had been driving her father crazy all afternoon, imagining what sort of terrible things had happened to Penny when she'd ventured out into the world.

After reassuring her mother, Penny knew she was going to have to answer a number of her father's questions. No doubt the only way to ease their worries would be to gloss over her insecurities and paint her day as a grand adventure. Then she could set her mother's mind at ease by describing the nature of her job
at the Orange Blossom Inn. Though her parents didn't know many people, Penny felt sure they would have heard of Beverly Overholt and approve of her spotless reputation.

There was no need for her parents to hear anything about Michael Knoxx or the fact that Penny was going to be spending a lot of time with him. Besides, Penny was fairly sure she wouldn't be able to describe Michael in a disinterested way. They would probably guess her feelings about him in two seconds.

And then promptly refuse to let her leave the house ever again!

With a shake of her head, Penny returned to the present. She slipped off her flipflops, padded toward the living room, and braced herself for the upcoming conversation. But instead of being greeted by a flurry of questions, she faced an empty room.

Actually, the whole house was quiet. She didn't hear her parents chatting, didn't see them sitting in their chairs on the back porch—their favorite after-dinner pastime. She didn't hear her mother doing dishes, either. She was home alone.

She felt almost as if she'd walked into the wrong house.

Suddenly, all the warnings and cautionary tales she'd been told came to the surface. Maybe something had happened to them. Maybe one of them had been hurt?

She strode into the kitchen. It was spotless and empty. Sniffing the air, Penny couldn't discern what her mother had cooked for supper. Had she even cooked supper?

Just as her worry was starting to transform into something that felt a whole lot like fear, she saw a note on the kitchen counter.

Two sentences.

She read it once. Then again. Then set the note back down on the counter. She felt confusion, dismay, and sadness. Followed by a burst of shock. She let the note drift to the floor.

Their family did not go out for pizza. They didn't go out for walks. They didn't visit Pinecraft Park. In a nutshell, they stayed safe.

For the life of her she couldn't imagine her parents going out for pizza on a whim.

Penny had just bent to pick up the fallen note when the front door opened. A moment later, her parents walked in.

“Hi, Penny,” her mother said. “It is good to see you home.”

“I got back a few minutes ago.” Looking from one parent to the other, she held up the note they'd left. “I see you went out for pizza.”

Her mother shrugged as she set her purse down on the kitchen counter, then picked up a dishrag and started wiping the already spotless counters. “We did. It sounded like a good idea. We haven't been out to supper in ages.”

“I can't remember the last time we went out for pizza,” Penny mused. “I wish I would have known you were going.”

Her father said nothing, merely glared at her.

That's when Penny knew that they had gone out without her on purpose. And neither of them was holding a pizza box. It seemed they hadn't brought home any leftovers for her, either.

Furthermore, she knew her mother wasn't going to give her a hug and share how worried she'd been. Her father wasn't going to ask about Penny's day. He wasn't going to ask how the job search had gone or if she'd gotten one.

In short, they were going to make certain she knew that they were not happy with her. They were also waiting for her to apologize
for going against their wishes. Waiting for her to promise never to stray again. But if she did those things, she'd have to give up the small measure of confidence she'd gained.

Which would be incredibly painful.

As her stomach began to rumble, giving a not-so-subtle reminder that she hadn't eaten anything of substance since breakfast, Penny made another huge decision. Instead of sitting at home, going hungry and begging for their understanding, she turned around and walked back out the front door. She would go over to the Kaufmanns' house to see if Violet was there. And if she was, Penny was going to see if she'd like to join her for supper. It wasn't too late. Most restaurants would still be open.

Once outside, Penny noticed that the sun was just beginning its slow descent toward the horizon and it wouldn't be long before the solar-powered streetlights flickered on, one by one. A tremor coursed through her.

For so long, she'd been ruled by her fears and memories. She'd let herself be guided by her father's warnings and her mother's pain. And though she would never have said that she'd had a comfortable existence, that's what it had been. It was like she'd been stuck in a very plush, very cozy old couch: comforted on all sides, leaving enough room only for a shaft of sunlight and the minimum amount of oxygen.

Now, she was surrounded by air and the evening and possibilities. It was going to be up to her to make friends, acquaintances, and who knew—perhaps even enemies. No doubt, she was setting herself up for extreme happiness and utter fear. But they would be fresh experiences, fresh as the burst of orange blossoms next to Miss Beverly's front door.

It seemed this day was going to be filled with firsts.

O
h!
Pinecraft looked just like the postcards her aunt Beverly had sent her.

As Patricia—Tricia to all who knew her—stared out the window of the Pioneer Trails bus, she was happy that she'd at last taken up Aunt Beverly's long-standing invitation to pay her a visit. She was even happier that she'd decided to come without warning.

Surely unexpected visitors were the best ones.

When the bus driver carefully pulled into the parking lot around what had to be dozens of folks there waiting, she scanned the area, looking for her aunt. Her aunt had written that it was rare for her not to greet the bus from Sugarcreek, even when she wasn't expecting guests. Aunt Beverly said she enjoyed the social atmosphere that surrounded each arrival and departure.

And then, all of a sudden, Tricia recognized her. Even though she hadn't seen Beverly in over three years, she remembered the elegant way she held herself, how her chin lifted just so. And those bright, striking green eyes that everyone had always talked about.

It had to be her. It had to be.

She was standing in the middle of a group of five or six ladies, some of whom were obviously several years older than she, and others perhaps a few years younger. But what was most apparent was that she looked happy. She was smiling and chatting about something. It looked as if one of the ladies had told a joke and they were all enjoying it. Tricia clasped her hands together. She knew it had been the right choice to come for a visit. She knew it.

“Everyone, it's time to go. Make sure you've got all your things. And then double-check again,” the driver announced. “This bus will be gone the moment the last suitcase is unloaded.”

Tricia looked around and noticed that while all the other passengers were following his directions, it was obvious that no one took his dire warning all that seriously.

“Don'tcha worry about that Tony, dear,” the kind woman who'd been sitting across the aisle from her advised. “He's all bark but no bite.”

“That's
gut
to know. I don't think I've forgotten anything.”

“All you can do is your best, child.”

Tricia smiled at her, though she was tempted to point out that she was definitely not a child. She might look like a teenager, but she was twenty-two.

Luckily, there was no time for any of that. People were lining up and eyeing the bus's door like it was the entrance to a grand amusement park. Then, with a snap and a whoosh of air, the driver opened it, stood up, and announced with a bit of fanfare, “Pinecraft, Florida. Everyone out.”

The line moved forward. With every step, Tricia found herself being less aware of what was happening on the bus and more interested in the sights, sounds, and smells of her first visit to
Florida. And then, it was her turn to walk down the steps. Instantly, she was surrounded by the warmth of the Florida sun, the bright colors of all the women's dresses, and the scent of flowers blooming in every available bed and terra-cotta pot.

And she was instantly charmed.

Looking to her right, she scanned the area for Aunt Beverly. But now that folks were clustered around greeting friends and family or claiming their suitcases, her aunt and her sea-green dress were nowhere to be found. Tricia was gently nudged forward as the folks behind her descended and filled in the immediate area around the bus.

As she turned to her left, she looked again for Beverly—for any of the women she had seen standing with her aunt—but they were either lost in the crowd or must have already left.

“Excuse me, miss?” a lady called out behind her.

Tricia turned around.
“Jah?”
It was the woman who had visited with her on the bus.

“Did you have some suitcases? Because if you did, you need to head over and claim 'em now. Tony may be all bark and no bite, but he wasn't kidding about his schedule. He won't take it kindly if you keep him waiting on ya.”

Tricia nodded her thanks and walked over to the driver who was standing next to a half-dozen bags and holding a clipboard. That's when she realized that she'd been standing there like a lost sheep for far longer than she'd realized. “I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.”

The pair of lines creasing his forehead smoothed. “Ain't no problem. But it is time for me to get a move on. Which one is yours?”

She pointed to her spiffy new suitcase. It was covered in bright blue canvas and had not two but four wheels. The card
attached to the price tag had said those four wheels were far better than two. “That one,” she said with a smile.

He smiled back, grabbed it out of the pile, and deposited it at her feet. “Here you go, doll,” he said, tipping the bill of his cap in a rather courtly gesture. “Have a good time in sunny Florida.”

Then, before she had a chance to tell him how she had come as a surprise to see her aunt Beverly, Tony turned away and started talking to the person on her right.

Gripping her bag's handle, she pulled it to her. It rolled easily enough, but to be honest, it didn't feel all
that
much better than her suitcase with two wheels.

And as she looked around the now almost empty parking lot, practically bare except for the eight or ten people reading the post office bulletin board, Tricia started thinking that maybe it would have been a better idea to tell Aunt Beverly that she was heading her way.

It seemed that even though Aunt Beverly had written that she met the Pioneer Trails bus every Wednesday, she didn't actually
meet
every bus. And that though she'd written that the Orange Blossom Inn was mighty close to where the buses arrived, it wasn't exactly next door. Maybe she'd let her enthusiasm and ignorance get the best of her.

And now, here she was. Alone in Pinecraft with no earthly idea of how to find the Orange Blossom Inn. Well, she was simply going to surprise Aunt Beverly at her doorstep.

Ignoring the weight of the tote bag on her shoulder and the thought that it would have been a really, really great idea to have taken off her thick boots and slipped on flipflops before stepping out into the warm Florida sun, Tricia gave a sharp tug on the fancy suitcase—and watched as it somehow tripped over a rock,
wobbled on two of the four wheels, then landed with a
snap
. Though one wheel had crunched and fallen away—too ruined to reattach—the bag was not too damaged to stop itself from rolling a few feet before coming to rest on its side.

Thus proving that everything was not perfect in Pinecraft, after all. Not by a long shot.

“I
T
'
S ONLY ELEVEN A
.
M
., Beverly,” Sadie said as they slowly walked back from their weekly visit to greet the Pioneer Trails bus. “We should go to Yoder's.”

Beverly grinned as their other two friends, Wilma and Marta, chuckled.

Her best friend glared at them all. “What did I say now?” It was a long-standing joke that Sadie continually said things that were just a tiny bit nonsensical.

“Nothing. It's only that you suggest we go to Yoder's every single Wednesday. And every single Wednesday you make this suggestion in such a way that it sounds like it's something new.” Beverly attempted to say this in a serious way but couldn't refrain from smiling.

Sadie shook her head. “I do not.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Marta proclaimed. “You add just a touch of surprise and delight to your voice to make it sound like you just thought of it. It's hysterical.”

Finally Sadie's lips twitched. “Well, Yoder's
is
always a
gut
idea.”

Knowing that her friend's feelings were going to be hurt if they didn't stop the teasing soon, Beverly patted Sadie's shoulder. “You know we're only teasing because you're so much fun to be around, dear. And yes, indeed, going to Yoder's is always a
wonderful-gut
idea.”

Wilma pointed to the restaurant. “So, are we going to go? After all, we're right here, and there is no time like the present.”

“How long does the line look?” Marta craned her neck to see. “Ugh. It's a long one.”

“It would be. The bus just came,” Beverly said.

Her girlfriends needed no more of an explanation. Yoder's was one of the most popular restaurants in all of Sarasota and a destination for tourists visiting Pinecraft. Part of the restaurant's charm was its small size as well as the fact that the long lines often became social events—a chance to meet people from all parts of the country.

All four of them had made Pinecraft their home—in Marta's and Wilma's case, for over a dozen years. Sadie had moved to Florida after her husband had passed away seven years ago. Beverly was the newest member of the group, having moved there three years ago.

Still looking hopeful, Sadie tapped her foot. “It is a long line, but we all have two good feet. What does everyone want to do?”

“I'm out,” Marta said. “I hate standing in line, especially one that is moving so slowly. Besides, I have food at home. I think I'll eat that and save my time and money.”

Sadie harrumphed. “Spoilsport.”

Marta just rolled her eyes. “See you all at quilting. Well, except for you, Bev.”

Beverly raised a hand. “Yep. See ya.”

After a minute, Wilma shrugged. “I have food at home, too, but I have a mind to have a slice of coconut cream pie.”

Sadie beamed. “Perfect. So, that's now three of us?”

“I'm going to head on back, too,” Beverly said reluctantly.

“Sure? You didn't pick up any guests today.”

“I know. But as much as I like Yoder's pie, I'm afraid I have
some baking of my own to do. Not to mention I've got my new girl.”

“And your celebrity!” Sadie fanned herself. “If I were you, I wouldn't want to ever leave the inn.”

“Sadie, he's young enough to be your grandson,” Wilma chided.

“I'm not
that
old and he's not
that
young. He could be my son.” When they all laughed, she blushed. “And I wasn't even thinking about him that way. It's just that he is so . . .”

“Dreamy,” Wilma finished with a smile. “You're right, dear. We're old but we're not dead. That Michael Knoxx is quite the man.”

Beverly shook her head in dismay. “You two are ridiculous. As far as I'm concerned, he's simply a guest.”

“Uh-huh,” Wilma said with a wink. “Well, off you go then. I'm sure you have a lot to do at the inn. See you at tea.”

“See you then.” Turning in the opposite direction, Beverly headed on her way, feeling better about her decision the farther she walked from Yoder's. She had things to do. Cakes to bake, rooms to clean.

And the new owner, Eric—who was supposed to arrive any day now—to appease.

And since Wilma and Sadie weren't there to tease her, she admitted to herself that they were right. She did, indeed, have her very own celebrity to take care of. Beverly made a mental note to check on him herself when she got back. That sweet Penny had spent quite a bit of time with him the previous afternoon, but Beverly felt responsible for his well-being. Penny had said that Michael hadn't eaten much and didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Since he was going to be staying at her inn for at least a month, Beverly wanted to get things off to a good start.

Even famous men like him needed to feel taken care of.

She'd just begun a mental grocery list when she saw a pretty young lady in a violet dress lugging a broken suitcase with one arm and supporting a very heavy-looking tote bag with the other. Her steps were halting and slow, and when Beverly got a glimpse of her expression, she felt her heart clench.

The poor thing was near tears.

“Excuse me, miss, do you need some help?”

The girl turned to her in relief. “I do. I really do. I need to find the Orange Blossom— Oh, Aunt Beverly!”

Beverly couldn't have been more surprised if the young lady had started tap dancing on the sidewalk.
“Jah?”

“It's me. Patricia. Tricia! You know, Edward's youngest?”

It had been the question in her statement that had done it. Sweet Tricia, always so hesitant about herself. Immediately, tears sprang to Beverly's eyes. “Tricia? Oh, my goodness, look at you,” she exclaimed just before she enfolded the girl into her arms. “The last time I saw you, you were a good five inches shorter. And had chubby cheeks.”

Tricia giggled. “I was kind of a late bloomer, but I've made up for it since.”

“Indeed you have.” Standing back, Beverly eyed her brother's youngest with a happy smile. Edward was her favorite brother, and each one of his five girls had Beverly's heart wrapped around their fingers. But Tricia had always been special to her. From the time she was a tiny thing, she'd had a mischievous way about her. It had often driven Edward to distraction, but Beverly had found her niece's knack for impetuousness to be highly amusing. They'd shared a couple of letters over the years, but nothing recently. Ever since she'd left Ohio she'd found it difficult to remain connected with her friends and family. Even though
they'd been nothing but kind when Beverly had been humiliated when her best friend and fiancé fell in love, Beverly couldn't help but be embarrassed about what had happened.

Then another memory filtered through the shock. Beverly recalled a small character flaw—if it could really be called that. Tricia was impulsive—always had been—which spurred a new worry. Edward was nothing if not conscientious. Never would he have allowed Tricia to visit without exchanging four or five phone calls and a half dozen letters with Beverly first.

“What is going on, Tricia?”

“Well, my brand-new suitcase broke. I can't believe it.”

“Those things happen.” Instead of asking her again what she was up to, Beverly stared at her hard and held on to her patience.