Hometown Hope. Laurel Blount

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      It was downright depressing—not to mention humiliating. And to make matters worse, her hopes that her struggles were going unnoticed had been dashed this afternoon.

      The minute Trisha Saunders had walked through the door, Anna had known something was up. Her former high school classmate owned Buds and Blooms, the flower shop next door, but she’d never bothered to visit Pages before.

      Trisha had her five-year-old and several of his day care classmates in tow.

      “Go find a book for Jimmy,” she’d instructed her son. “I’ve been so swamped at work I totally forgot to pick up a birthday present for him, and I don’t have time to run to a toy store now. A book will have to do. The rest of you can help look, and then we’ll go on to the party.” The children had begun pulling books off the shelves, but when Anna had headed over to help, Trish had stopped her with one perfectly manicured hand. “Don’t worry about them, Anna. They can find the book by themselves. I want to talk to you about something.”

      Then she’d tugged Anna aside and made an offer on the bookstore. Or more accurately, the building that housed it.

      Trisha’s tone had been almost as insulting as the amount she’d offered.

      “You won’t get a better deal,” Trisha had said, casting an appraising look around as the children played a shrieking game of hide-and-seek among the shelves. “This space needs a lot of updating. I wouldn’t touch it myself if our two buildings weren’t attached. Besides, everybody knows you’re holding on by your fingernails. Now that your dad’s dead, why not just sell this store and move on with your life?”

      Now that your dad’s dead. The nonchalant way Trisha had tossed off that horrible phrase cracked across Anna’s sore heart like a slap.

      She doesn’t know, Anna had reminded herself. Trisha’s parents were still both living. She had no idea what it felt like to lose the only family you had in the whole world.

      “Obviously running a business isn’t your strong suit, Anna,” Trisha had continued in a patronizing tone. “Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing? I mean, weren’t you taking some high-level university classes or something before your dad got sick?”

      “I was working toward a PhD in literature. Well, British literature, actually. I—”

      “Whatever.” Trisha had interrupted Anna’s explanation with an impatient shrug. “Sell the store to me, and you can go back and finish that up. It’s the perfect solution all the way around. So, how soon can you have all this junk cleared out?”

      Anna had felt a flash of indignation. Books weren’t junk. But she’d held her tongue. Based on her personal experience—and her sales figures—most people in Pine Valley agreed with Trisha. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

      “Well, don’t take too long. I need to get all this settled before my other new addition comes along.” Trish had patted her round baby bump with a self-satisfied smile.

      Remembering that little smirk, Anna scribbled so hard that the point of her pen tore through the notebook paper.

      Back in high school Trisha had scraped by academically, spending her weekends partying while Anna had spent almost all her time with her nose stuck in some textbook. Now Trisha was balancing a booming business with a picture-perfect growing family. Meanwhile Anna “Brainy” Delaney, valedictorian and triumphant winner of the Hayes scholarship, was living alone above a bankrupt bookstore, sharing her peanut butter with a possum.

      Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected.

      A sudden clap of thunder boomed, causing the walls of the hundred-year-old building to shudder. Glancing up from her scribbles, Anna caught a quick glimpse of Pine Valley’s town square through the wide store window before the downpour started. She sighed and set down her pen.

      She’d better crank up the dehumidifiers. Damp seeped into the cracks of this old building, warping books and condensing on the inside of the windows.

      So much for her idea of staying open late in the hopes of drumming up an extra sale or two. Nobody would be out in this weather. She might as well lock up, go upstairs and start researching all the logistics involved in closing a bookstore.

      She sure hoped that would turn out to be easier than running one.

      Anna flipped the sign in the door’s window to Closed and twisted the grudging bolt into place. After flicking off the lights, she picked her way through the dim store, pausing at the checkout counter just long enough to snag an empty coffee mug and, after a second’s guilty hesitation, her bookmarked novel.

      She wouldn’t read long, she promised herself. Just a few minutes.

      A half hour, tops.

       Blam! Blam-blam-blam!

      Halfway up the steps to her apartment, Anna whirled around as another flash of lightning lit up the darkened store. A man stood at the door, his face pressed against the glass, pounding on it with one clenched fist.

      Anna yelped, dropping both her coffee mug and her book. The lightning flickered again, and when she caught her second glimpse of the man, her fear morphed into annoyance.

      Oh, for crying out loud.

      That was Hoyt Bradley. Since the man had never voluntarily opened a book in his life, Anna had no idea what he was doing banging on the door of a bookstore in the middle of a storm, but he wasn’t going to kill her.

      Well, not unless he was planning to aggravate her to death.

      Hoyt made an impatient what-are-you-waiting-for gesture through the glass, and Anna rolled her eyes. Then she stepped over her broken mug and stalked back down the steps toward the door.

      Hoyt had always been as stubborn as a mule. She didn’t know what he’d come for, but he wouldn’t leave until he got it. She might as well deal with him now. Anna flipped the lights back on and slid the bolt free.

      Hoyt lunged into the shop, rivers of rainwater sluicing off his broad used-to-be-a-football-star shoulders. “Is she here?”

      “You could’ve given me a heart attack banging on the door like that! And watch what you’re doing! You’re flinging water all over my Jane Austens.” Anna grabbed one sodden shirtsleeve and tried to tug Hoyt away from the classics she’d hopefully arranged in a display near the entryway.

      It was like trying to move a boulder. Hoyt didn’t budge. “Is she here, Anna?”

      “Is who here? Hoyt, seriously, you’re soaked through, and you’re getting water everywhere. Do you even own an umbrella?”

      Since he obviously wasn’t going to move, she’d better scoot the cardboard display stand out of the puddle he was creating.

      “Anna, please.” As she turned away, Hoyt reached out and caught her upper arms, his wet hands chilling her bare skin. Her pulse skittered out of rhythm as memories flooded her brain.

      She’d sat knee to knee with Hoyt Bradley every afternoon for eight months during her junior year in high school. Every СКАЧАТЬ