The Husband She Can't Forget
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Patricia Forsythe
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17
Chapter One
THE CRUNCH OF tires as a pickup turned onto the long, graveled drive of Joslin Gardens caused a bobwhite quail to cease the endless reciting of his name and brought Carly Joslin’s attention from the damp, woven cloth she was spreading over the truck bed of fresh-picked vegetables. She frowned. She didn’t recognize the silver dual-cab pickup and she was running short on time. She had to deliver this load of produce to a restaurant on the other side of the county and then change clothes for the Memorial Day barbecue, where she hoped to arrive on time.
It couldn’t be a customer. The fresh produce stand that a couple of high school kids operated for her was shuttered for the day and her employees had gone home. However, people did tend to stop by to ask her advice on gardening, or to purchase one of the pieces of furniture she refurbished. Raising a hand to shade her eyes, she tried to peer through the truck’s tinted windshield to identify her visitor. She usually enjoyed visits from her customers, but there really wasn’t time for an extended chat with anyone today, and besides...
Shock jolted through her, nearly buckling her knees, when she recognized the driver.
“It can’t be,” she whispered as she felt color drain from her face. “What’s he doing here?”
Shakily, she gripped the side of the truck while she reminded herself to breathe and forced her frozen expression into what she hoped was an approximation of a welcoming smile.
The fancy pickup took the rutted and pocked drive slowly, probably to minimize gravel popping up and marring the perfect paint job. The recent rains had laid waste to the drive and Carly intended to have it graded and graveled as soon as the weather improved for an extended period. Now, however, she was glad she had waited. The longer it took for the vehicle to reach her, the more time she had to prepare herself to meet the driver.
Still, she couldn’t quite resist the urge to compare the upscale vehicle with her own truck, which her father had bought the year she was born and everyone in the family had used since then. The only thing new was its paint job: dark green with the Joslin Gardens logo she’d created on the sides—curling vines and plump vegetables shaped like letters and numbers. Her pickup ran beautifully except for the air-conditioning, which no one could coax into doing its job.
The silver truck stopped several feet away from her and Luke Sanderson stepped out of the cab. Instantly she saw that he wasn’t the gangly boy she’d known a dozen years ago, but a self-assured man dressed in crisp jeans and a dark purple shirt.
He was taller than she remembered, but that might be due to his cowboy boots. When she’d known him before, he’d usually worn work boots, sneakers or sandals. The blond hair that had once hung shaggily around his ears was now perfectly cut. It appeared to be a shade darker, and his skin less tanned, probably because he’d spent the intervening years in an office, not working outside as he had back then.
There was no sign of the beard he’d once had. Instead his jaw was smooth shaven. His face was fuller. One thing hadn’t changed, though. His eyes were still a light shade of caramel brown that had so intrigued her from the minute they’d met.
“Hello, Carly,” he said, shutting the pickup’s door behind him and walking over to stand in front of her.
His voice was deeper, she thought, but maybe that was because she hadn’t heard it in so many years. For some crazy reason, her pounding heart had bounced into her throat.
“Hello, Lu-Luke,” she stammered, pausing and trying to get a grip on her emotions. This was the first time she’d spoken to him in twelve years. “This is a surprise.”
“I should have called, but it seemed easier to drop by.” He nodded toward his truck. “I’ve got something for you. I thought if you weren’t here, I could leave it on the porch with a note.”
“Something for me?” She lifted her hands, palm out, as she shook her head. “After all these years, Luke, I can’t imagine...”
“It’s from Wendolin.”
“Your grandmother? But she’s—”
“She left you this in her will. Left it to both of us, actually, but it’s not something I’d be interested in, so it’s all yours.”
“What is it?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” He walked to the back of the pickup, opened the tailgate and untied the ropes firmly holding a tarp in place around a big, rectangular object.
Although her knees felt a little shaky, Carly followed him. When he flipped the tarp to one side, she gasped.
“Wendolin’s hope chest,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes. Reaching out a shaky hand, she ran her fingers over the ornately carved flat top of the trunk. “This is the one that was in her bedroom, isn’t it? At the foot of her bed.”
“Yes.” Luke’s throat worked and he cleared it before he went on. “She designated years ago that you were to have it. She said you would appreciate it more than anyone else because you love things with a history.”
“That’s true. I...I do appreciate it. And she left this to me? I never expected her to do such a thing.”
“She always loved you. Your visits to her these past few years meant a lot.”
“They meant a lot to me, too, but certainly didn’t mean she had to leave me a family heirloom.” Tears stung her eyes and Carly blinked them back.
“It did to her...and to me.”
Carly couldn’t form an answer around the knot of sorrow, longing and regret that clogged her throat. Wendolin Bayer had been a wonderful, loving woman, a steadfast friend when Carly had needed one the most.
“My dad...”
“What about him?” Carly choked out. Turning away, she used the sleeve of her T-shirt to dab at her eyes. Robert Sanderson was the last person in the world she wanted to talk about, or even think about, right now.
“He said he saw you at Omi’s funeral,” he said.
“Along with about six hundred other people. Between her church work and her community work, many people loved her. It was the most crowded funeral I’ve ever seen.” Carly faced him again, her eyes still bright with tears.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Were you looking for me?” She didn’t know what point he was trying to make, and maybe he didn’t, either. She had seen him at the funeral, from a distance, but had avoided him. She couldn’t face talking to him, and she definitely hadn’t wanted to talk to his father. She had made it a point to slip in as the service started and sit in the back, one of the few seats left, and grieve on her own.
When Luke didn’t respond, she went on. “I only stayed for the service then I came home. I had produce to pick and deliver.”
Luke glanced around, seeming to notice the gardens for the first time, along with the loaded bed of the pickup. His attention lingered on the greenhouses, then on the rows of carrots and beets in the small field. “This is beautiful, Carly. Prosperous. Do you have any help?”
“Some. Mostly high school kids who may or may not be dependable. If I need to, I can manage on my own.”
Eager to be finished with this awkward encounter, she reached out, ready to pull the trunk toward her, but Luke put a restraining hand on her arm. She jerked away then blushed when she caught the dismay in his face.
“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s heavy, so I’d better get it. Omi left a bunch of things in there for you. I didn’t look at the contents, thought it was none of my business.”
“I can do it.” Carly flexed her biceps. “I do manual labor all day long. I can help you with this trunk.”
Luke looked at her arm then at her determined face. “Yes, I guess you can. Do you have a hand truck? That would make it easier for both of us.”
“Sure. Be right back.” She took a few steps and then turned. “Don’t do it yourself. Wait for me.”
Once inside the equipment shed, Carly glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was doing as she said, then grasped the handle of the hand truck, tilted it back on its wheels and rolled it out of the shed, her movements automatic.
She wished Luke had called first so she would have had time to prepare herself, to be the in-charge woman she had worked so hard to become for more than a decade. He didn’t have her phone number, but he could have asked Tom or Frances for it. His uncle and aunt knew everyone in the county. In fact, they were hosting the Memorial Day barbecue.
She paused, glancing at Luke. Of course. That’s why he was here. He was going to the barbecue, although he’d never attended before. Well, at least she knew. It wouldn’t be another surprise. She only wished there wouldn’t be so many people there who knew about their past—they’d be watching to see how she and Luke reacted to each other. Her two best friends, Gemma Whitmire and Lisa Thomas, would be at the barbecue, as well. They would help her avoid him if necessary.
“Here we go,” she said, all business as she wheeled the hand truck to the back of his pickup. “I want to put the trunk in the house.”
Luke jumped into the truck bed and pushed the trunk while Carly pulled. When it was far enough to tilt over the tailgate, he leaped down and helped her lower it to the ground, then onto the hand truck. Together, they rolled it to the house, lifted it up the three shallow steps to the front porch and then through the door into the living room.
Carly moved the coffee table away from the sofa and said, “Here is where I want it.”
They moved it into place then stood together, catching their breath.
“I had a couple of guys help me get it into my truck, but we probably should have unpacked it before we moved it.” Luke flexed his shoulders. “I don’t know what Omi put in there, but it feels like gold bricks.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll treasure it.”
He glanced around the living room, his gaze skimming over the 1940s-style sofa and chair she had reupholstered, the tables and bookcases she had refinished, and the paintings she had unearthed at estate sales and junk shops. She’d painted some of the pictures, too—abstract designs where she’d been playing with color, trying to recreate the feel of a sunset or the exact shade of a field of bluebonnets.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I can see that you will. This is very different than what your parents had in here. How are they, by the way?”
“They’re doing well now, but slowing down. They took everything with them when my dad got sick and they moved to Tulsa, so I’ve made the house my own.”
“It reminds me of you.” The corner of his mouth edged up. “It’s cozy. What you always wanted.”
And nothing at all like the mansion where he’d been raised in an upscale section of Dallas, and probably nothing like whatever penthouse apartment he now inhabited.
She folded her hands at her waist. “It’s the home I wanted to create for myself.” Silently she added, for us, but those were words she would never speak out loud.
“The place looks great, Carly.” Luke started for the door. “You’ve achieved what your parents tried to do with their organic garden. You’ve worked hard.”
“Thank you.” From nowhere a blast of regret and nostalgia swept over her. “I needed to keep busy after we...”
“Yes, of course.” Luke opened the door and stepped out. He held it open so she could follow him if she wanted to, but she didn’t.
Her only desire was to go huddle in her chair, to settle into calmness. She couldn’t do that, though. She had an order to deliver and a party to attend. She’d been looking forward to that, but now even the thought of the get-together filled her with dread.
“Thank you for delivering the trunk, Luke. I’ll take good care of it, and of whatever Wendolin left inside.”
“I know you will.” He descended the steps then turned back. “Organic gardening? Is that very labor intensive?”
“Of course, but it’s worth it because I can honestly say the produce is as fresh, good, and clean as I can make it.”
He nodded, as he looked out at her fields again. “I see.” He paused again, before he said, “Maybe I’ll see you later.” With a wave, he strode to his truck, climbed in and drove away.
Grateful the awkward encounter was finished, Carly leaned against the door frame and watched the Oklahoma red dust rise behind his tires then dissipate into the breeze.
Tears sprang into her eyes and she blinked hard to fight them back. Turning, she looked at her legacy from Luke’s German-born grandmother, the one who had taught her the importance of cherishing her family, the one who had comforted her when the family she and Luke had tried to create had disappeared in a miscarriage and the cold, silent recriminations that ended their brief marriage.
It all seemed so long ago, and she wouldn’t have thought it could still hurt so much. She thought she’d dealt with it, put it behind her, forgiven herself. And him. But maybe facing hurtful memories and being able to forgive were skills that needed to be practiced.
Sitting on the sofa, she ran her fingers over the design of flowers and birds carved into the top of the trunk. This wasn’t a piece she would refinish. That would be a travesty. It had come to America with the Bayer family when they fled Nazi Germany eighty years ago, but she didn’t know how old it was. The faded paint held only a hint of the beautiful colors that had once decorated the piece and the nicks and scratches spoke of years of everyday use. This had been treasured by Wendolin and her family, and Carly would continue that tradition.
She was tempted to lift the lid to see what was inside, to examine the precious items that had made it so heavy, but a glance at the clock reminded her she should have left ten minutes ago.
She patted the trunk lid. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
Hurrying to her bedroom, she grabbed her purse, along with the outfit she would wear to the Sandersons’ and a pair of highly polished boots. The restaurant owner to whom she was delivering her produce wouldn’t mind if she used their ladies’ room to change clothes and freshen up for the party. Gemma and Lisa would probably laugh because she never dressed up, but having seen Luke, she was glad she’d made the decision to do so tonight.
* * *
“GLAD THAT’S OVER,” Luke murmured as he rolled down the highway toward his aunt and uncle’s house. He had done his duty to Omi by delivering the trunk and putting it where Carly wanted it. Now it was time to go see what kinds of jobs Aunt Frances had for him to do before tonight’s barbecue.
He couldn’t keep his thoughts from returning to Carly, though. The lush prosperity of Joslin Gardens had been amazing, so different from the scrubby acreage on which her parents had first experimented with organic vegetables. It had been tough going since the ground below the thin topsoil was shale. Luke was sure the garden’s current success was entirely due to Carly’s hard work.
He’d never forgotten how beautiful she was with her deep brown eyes, strong features and shining black hair, and maturity had made her even more beautiful. He hadn’t seen her in all these years—had never been to the annual barbecue—because he hadn’t wanted to run into her... He didn’t want to bring up bad memories for her, but that’s what he’d done this afternoon.
He wouldn’t have come this year if he hadn’t been caught in circumstances he couldn’t change. He would tell her all about it as soon as things were settled. After that, he would deal with the consequences. And the hurt.
* * *
THE BARBECUE AT the Sanderson ranch was everything Carly remembered from the past few years, and everything she had hoped it would be this year—crowded, busy and fun. Best of all, the food looked delicious. Frances and her helpers had outdone themselves. Carly took that as a personal favor because she liked to eat and hadn’t had anything since breakfast.
The owner of the restaurant where she’d made her delivery had offered to have the cook fix her something, but Carly’s only interest had been in changing into her new red skirt and top and pulling on her boots. These were her dancing shoes and she intended to have fun tonight. She deserved it after the jolt she’d received today.
She greeted the people she knew, met a few more, and stood in line at the buffet table. Unashamedly, she filled two plates then turned to look for a place to sit. Spying an empty spot at a table where Lisa Thomas sat with several others, she headed in that direction.
Once she was seated, Lisa turned to her with her eyes wide and spoke quietly. “Did you know Luke is here?” She nodded to a spot across the patio where Luke was talking to his aunt and uncle. The three of them appeared to be deep in a serious discussion.
Tom and Frances Sanderson had held this barbecue every Memorial Day weekend since they had moved to Reston a few years ago. The news of the property for sale had come from Carly’s own father, a longtime acquaintance of Tom’s even before his daughter had met and married the Sandersons’ nephew. They had proved to be huge assets to the community because they were tireless fund-raisers for local causes. Their current passion was reopening the county hospital, which had been closed for several years. Carly knew Tom and Frances had plans to charmingly convince people to donate to the hospital fund, or twist a few arms if necessary.
“Luke?” she asked, bringing her thoughts back to Lisa’s question. “Yes. He came to my house.”
Lisa’s eyes rounded. “Seriously? Why?”
Around bites of food, Carly told her about the trunk.
“Wendolin remembered you in her will? How sweet. She was a wonderful person.”
“She was.” Carly smiled as she remembered. “So warm and funny...and random.”
Lisa smiled. “Yes, I remember the stories you told Gemma and me of how she’d start one thing, abandon it, start another, come back to the first, go to another.”
“Somehow she got a great deal done. Usually helping other people. And she was always fun to be around, even if her way of thinking was confusing.” Carly sighed. “She was delightful.”
Her eyes full of laughter, she asked, “Did I tell you about how she used to go to the end of her sidewalk every day and blow kisses to the kids on the school buses that went by?”
Lisa snickered. “Yes, and one day she failed to notice the passing bus wasn’t bright yellow and blew kisses to a load of county prisoners heading to pick up trash on the side of the highway. That must have been the best part of their day.”
“No doubt. She was a little...odd, but in the sweetest way. I’m sure she was the best thing in Luke’s life for the past dozen years.”
“Oh, why do you say that?”
Carly chewed thoughtfully, “Because after his mother died, she was the biggest positive female influence in his life—”
“Until he met you.”
Carly gave a small shrug. “We both know that didn’t turn out to be very positive for him.”
“Not your fault,” Lisa insisted.
Carly knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She was grateful when Lisa’s attention was snagged by someone else.
Before Carly had finished eating, Lisa and a couple of people left the table and others took their places. Carly looked up from her salad to see Luke, along with Tom and Frances, settling into chairs opposite her. Both men were looking anxiously at Frances, whose face had gone pale.
