Marrying The Single Dad. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ new.” People in Harmony Valley were different. Or so Uncle Turo used to say. Joe didn’t remember if that was true. When last he’d lived here, he’d been a hell-raising, angry teenager, more concerned with rebelling against authority than being accepted.

      At sixteen, he’d viewed everyone over the age of thirty as the enemy. They’d either driven too slow or complained he drove too fast. They’d lived happily within the boundaries of society, while he’d felt rules weren’t for him. He hadn’t appreciated that the very things he resented about Harmony Valley had protected him as a child. Not until he’d needed a safe harbor for Sam.

      Now he hoped what Uncle Turo said was true, because he wanted to provide his kid with an environment that didn’t judge her for her great uncle being a crook.

      Joe drew a steadying breath, willing his eye to stop twitching and his head to stop pounding. Starting over wasn’t supposed to be so hard. “Why don’t we put up flyers at the bakery first?” Sugar. It was just the distraction Sam needed. They could afford a little sugar, couldn’t they?

      Sam slumped, staring out the window as Joe turned onto Main Street and down memory lane.

      At first it seemed nothing had changed. The cobbled sidewalks, window awnings and old-fashioned gaslights remained. There was the pawn shop and the pizzeria. There was the barbershop where he’d gotten his hair cut. There was the bakery, and farther down, the Mexican restaurant.

      A second glance showed him that time hadn’t stood still. The corner grocery was dark. The ice-cream parlor where kids used to go after school was vacant. The stationery store had been taken over by something called Mae’s Pretty Things.

      Main Street had been the heartbeat of town. Bustling. Never an empty storefront or an empty parking space. Now it felt deserted, despite a few scattered cars.

      They parked, grabbed the flyers and went inside Martin’s Bakery. Again, there was a sense of time standing still. The same mismatched wooden tables and chairs, framed yellowed photos from the bakery’s past on the wall, fresh sweets in the glass case. The smell of rich coffee was new. And the place was surprisingly crowded with retirees—which was great. They’d drive dated cars that didn’t require expensive diagnostic equipment that rivaled the cost of sending a man to the moon.

      Conversation died almost the same time as the door swung closed behind them.

      The familiar feeling of his youth, of not belonging, prickled Joe’s skin and tensed his shoulders. He longed to hide behind a motorcycle jacket and a sneer.

      “Dad.” Sam edged closer to him. “Why are they all...”

      He thought Sam was going to say staring.

      “...so old?”

      Someone chuckled. The crowd released a collective sigh. The young woman behind the counter waved them over with a sunny, welcoming smile. Joe’s sense of déjà vu receded.

      Now was the perfect time to announce the garage was back in business, before conversations resumed.

      Words stuck in the back of Joe’s throat.

      He’d never been much good at public speaking or composing smooth sentences. Joe and his brothers had grown up on the wrong side of the river. Their parents weren’t perfect or even well liked. Dad had mental-health issues that made him unpredictable and volatile. Mom liked to argue with anyone about anything. Their parents and status in life made the boys self-conscious, but had also given them a tough core that held up the chip Uncle Turo later placed on their shoulders.

      When Turo came to town, he’d given them an outlet for their resentment—motorcycles—and, not being a fan of mama’s boys, he’d encouraged their rebellious attitude. Not exactly the best way to help them fit into small, sleepy Harmony Valley, but a blessing to three teens longing for a guiding hand. Any guiding hand.

      But that was in the past. Joe was done with motorcycles and mischief. He was a single dad. A business owner. A responsible taxpaying citizen of Harmony Valley.

      Joe cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I’m Joe Messina and this is Sam. We’re reopening the garage over by the highway.”

      “Messina?” A thin old man squinted at them. He wore a red tie-dyed T-shirt and had a gray ponytail hanging down his back. “One of Tony Messina’s boys?”

      Joe nodded.

      “I’m Mayor Larry.” The aging hippy eyed Joe as if unsure how to tally his vote. Perhaps assuming Joe’s opinion was favorable, he added with all the enthusiasm of a politician, “Welcome home.”

      “Are you the Joe Messina whose mother used to be in the quilt club?” A wrinkled woman with short purplish-gray hair sat in the window seat. She wore a hot-pink tracksuit and had a quilt square in her lap. She stared at them with kind curiosity. “Her pinwheel quilt blocks were exquisite.”

      Joe nodded, breathing easier.

      “The Joe Messina who was a lineman on the high school team?” asked an elderly Asian man with a walker next to his seat. The table in front of him held a checkerboard, pieces midgame. “The one who lost his temper and punched the other team’s quarterback?”

      The mayor wrinkled his brow.

      “Uh...” Joe barely dipped his head, very much aware of Sam at his side. This was like entering a room of talking elephants. They hadn’t forgotten anything. He hoped they didn’t mention his dad. But he prayed they didn’t mention Uncle Turo.

      “The Joe Messina who set fire to the gymnasium?” This from a beefy senior with what looked like orange cat hair on his red polo shirt. He sat across from the checker player and might have been the fire chief back in the day.

      “That fire was an accident.” Grabbing Sam’s arm, Joe moved toward the main counter. A large tablet above the cookies flashed a message: Read Today’s Blog (Zucchini and Jalapeño Cookies with Sweet Lime Glaze). “I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day.”

      A well-dressed brunette paying for her coffee turned to give him a teasing smile. “Man, it sucks to be you.” It was Regina, the B and B manager and would-be car-part thief. She was too pretty and high-maintenance-looking to pick auto parts regularly. No. It was Brittany who was the brains of that outfit. “Makes me glad I didn’t grow up here. My past remains in the past, if you know what I mean.”

      Regina didn’t seem the type to have a dark past. Her sister, on the other hand... He’d bet she and that wrench of hers were trouble.

      “Do you have fifty dollars now?” Sam said in a voice that was far too businesslike for a kid. She widened her eyes and her smile, having been taught how to work a crowd by one of the best crooks in the family tree. “I can sell the grille to you.”

      “Samantha Ellen,” Joe said sharply. Sometimes his daughter was too big for her coveralls.

      Regina stared at Sam as if working through a complicated math problem.

      “It’s my property, too.” Sam jutted her delicate chin. “It’s the Messina Family Garage.”

      “Samantha?” Regina’s gaze flicked up to Joe’s hesitantly.

      What was there to be hesitant about?

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