Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster

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СКАЧАТЬ must have blanched and appeared ready to keel over because Jim caught me by the shoulders and backed me up to the strong trunk of a tree. “Easy, Rachel.”

      Control. The word floated into my head as I forced myself to take long, slow, deep breaths. After a minute, I felt stronger, but my heart still raced. I’d barely decided I needed a divorce lawyer, yet the town already knew about it? How blatant had Burt been and how had I not noticed? Damn him! Damn him for ruining the holiday, for making me an object of vicious gossip, and damn him for, well, everything! When I got my hands on the son of a bitch, he’d know the depth of my fury. We might end up canceling the party because Burt would be too busy salvaging his belongings. Or his life. I hadn’t decided which just yet. It was a toss-up at that moment.

      “Rachel?” Jim’s voice brought me back to my surroundings and I noticed people regarding us with curiosity as they passed. His hands held me securely, which was probably a good thing as my legs trembled on the edge of collapse.

      “I’m okay,” I said, knowing it to be a lie as I shrugged away his hands.

      He stepped back. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

      I looked up and found him looking contrite. Another handsome man. More handsome than he’d been as a youth. I remembered the power of those dark, almost black eyes, but the feeling remained that, a memory.

      “I don’t know where the rumors came from, but there’s no divorce in motion.” Yet. Come the following Monday morning that would change, unless Burt came home with some very convincing proof. Then again, I didn’t think he could. My heart dropped again, and I resisted the urge to pull off my wedding set and fling it down the nearest storm drain. The hand wearing it curled into a fist. I might need it to pay for the lawyer. Then again, the diamond would make a nice mark on Burt’s face when I punched him.

      “Okay. Let’s forget I passed on stupid gossip. I don’t want you mad at me. Friends?” He held out a hand.

      I cautiously took it and gave it a shake.

      Jim used our clasped hands to gently tug me away from the tree. “Sure you want to go to the parade?” He asked it softly, as if concerned I might fall apart. Granted, he was right to be worried. I was damn close to a breakdown right then.

      “Yeah.” The words felt wooden and flat, but I forced myself to speak, hoping a feeling of normalcy would return. “The Westons will be looking for me if I don’t show up soon. They made me promise.”

      “Who?”

      “You remember John Weston? He lived next door to me. Between us in age.”

      “Oh, right. The super jock.” Jim nodded.

      “He bought the house next door from his parents. I’m meeting him, his wife, and three kids.”

      “Let me walk you into town.”

      I could have refused. Probably should have, but his presence felt vaguely familiar and somewhat comforting. With him beside me, I realized I hadn’t liked walking alone. On the other hand, wouldn’t Jim’s presence instead of Burt’s draw more comments than me walking by myself? Hard to tell right then. I shrugged away from the tree and resumed the trek toward Main Street, where the parade would start in twenty minutes. If I weren’t there by then, John would come looking for me. And Mindy had informed me everything would be ruined. So I was stuck.

      We walked in silence for a block before I found some small talk inside me. “What do you do these days?”

      “Construction.”

      I glanced sideways at him again. I’d bet he still wielded a hammer. His already-darker Hispanic skin tone was more so from the sun, and I could make out the bulge of well-toned biceps beneath his worn chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

      The crowd began to thicken with the Elks, VFW, American Legion, Boy and Girl Scouts, and various other civic-minded groups lining up for the parade, so we had to move to the crowded sidewalk. From there we greeted members of each of these groups that kept the town busy with enough dances, pancake breakfasts, and ice cream socials to keep everyone up on the latest gossip and the teens out of too much trouble.

      When Jim’s arm brushed against mine again, it seemed more natural, a result of being crowded together, not him trying to octopus me.

      “Miss Rachel!” “Miss Rachel!”

      The cries of my age ten and under fans increased as we drew closer to downtown, where most of our buildings radiated the pride of renovated historic gems. The sense of permanence soothed my heart, and I could finally breathe enough to feel the satisfaction of connecting with my deep roots. Although the throng held more tourists than townies, I felt a sense of belonging. I should, my mother’s family had helped build the tiny rustic haven.

      Close enough to the Big Sur Coastal region south of Monterey and Carmel, Bonchamps had always attracted tourists and visitors who meandered down our shady streets to shop. The town stayed old-fashioned on purpose because we, the townspeople, wanted it that way.

      Of course, we couldn’t remain entirely nineteenth century. Tucked in side-by-side with the old standbys, Jim and I strolled past shops with artists of every kind. Athough the Main Street beauty salon and barber shop were institutions, we also passed an art shop, an herbs and spices tea merchant, a colorful kite shop, two independent book stores, a few antique stores, a deli, and all manner of specialty boutiques.

      We also had the choice of organic goodies at a fancy café, but I usually stopped at Barb’s for my clandestine donut fixes. I waved to her through the window when we paused at her corner.

      As the crowd had grown denser, Jim had taken my hand to lead me through the thicker concentrations of people on the sidewalks. I let myself forget to pull my hand from his, and got lost in a deep sense of community. These were my people. Their families had been here for well over a hundred years. Like my family, and me, they weren’t going anywhere. When I remembered the hand I held didn’t belong to my husband, I dropped it, but not before Barb noticed and raised a brow. Feeling a little sick to my stomach, I waved away the coffee she held up to tempt me inside.

      Patriotic to the center of our red, white, and blue little hearts, tradition demanded we go all out to celebrate national holidays. Independence Day was no exception and probably our biggest draw of the year. Bunting draped the entire length of the parade route down Main Street. Vendors trailing streamers and balloons, selling everything from silly hats to lemonade and cotton candy, worked the crowd. The crowds swelled around me, surely sending seizures of rapture into the hearts of merchants and tax collectors alike. We moved on, and I stopped long enough to buy a big cloud of pink cotton candy. I had no intention of eating it, but the kids would all love a sticky handful.

      Jim noticed I’d dropped behind, and he came back for me.

      “You don’t have to guard me, you know,” I mildly complained.

      “Don’t like me anymore?” He pinched a bit of my cotton candy with an exaggerated wink and a waggle of the eyebrows.

      “Jim…” I sighed in exasperation.

      “Okay, I get the hint. You’re not interested in fooling around.” He pinched another bit of fluff and stuffed it in my mouth.

      The sugar dissolved on my tongue. “No kidding.”

      “Let СКАЧАТЬ