Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ be told, Cole was beginning to remember a lot of things about the summer he’d met Grace.

      But it was the future he needed to focus on.

      After he’d discovered Kate’s letter—misfiled in a desk drawer, thanks to Bettina, his absentminded younger sister—Cole had contacted Sullivan and Sullivan, the only law office in Mirror Lake. Not only had the attorney recognized his name, but he’d also claimed he had a copy of Sloan’s will and a key to the house—for Cole.

      Until that moment, Cole hadn’t truly believed his grandfather had left him an inheritance. He’d assumed the house and land, along with all of Sloan’s personal possessions, had gone up for sale after his death.

      Shaken, Cole had asked the lawyer why he hadn’t been told about his grandfather’s wishes. Sullivan had hemmed and hawed a bit before explaining that Sloan had set a condition—that Cole not be told about the property unless he returned to Mirror Lake on his own.

      Cole didn’t believe in coincidences, but he did believe in divine intervention.

      This is your time, his secretary, Iola, had said right before Cole had left for Mirror Lake.

      His time hadn’t been his own since he was seventeen. But now that his mother had remarried and his younger siblings were starting their own lives, maybe he could finally believe it was true.

      And all he had to do to make his dream a reality was to sell the piece of land that had been in the Merrick family for five generations.

      * * *

      “I’m sorry, but Sully won’t be back in the office until Monday.”

      Cole stared at the receptionist—and apparently the other half of Sullivan and Sullivan—in disbelief. Candy Sullivan, a bleach blonde in her mid-fifties, had pointed to a chair by the window when he’d walked into the law office. Then she’d spent the next fifteen minutes chatting on the phone while she painted each fingernail a shade of red that matched the fire hydrant on the curb outside.

      Fortunately, her conversation had come to an end about sixty seconds before Cole’s patience.

      “I picked up the key from Mr. Sullivan when I got into town yesterday. He didn’t say anything about going away for the weekend.”

      “Yesterday Sully didn’t know that Mayor Dodd was going to ask him to judge the square dance competition.” Candy pursed her lips and blew a stream of air on her pinky finger. “He needs a few hours to get ready, so he skipped out early. Matilda Fletcher, she’s the head of the historical society, found him the cutest pair of red suspenders—”

      “You mean he’s still in town?”

      Penciled-in eyebrows hitched together like boxcars over the narrow track of Candy’s nose. “Where else would he be, honey? A town only turns one hundred and twenty-five years old...” A brief pause. “Once.”

      Cole pulled in a breath and held it, trying to cap off his rising frustration. He’d promised Iola he would be back by the end of the day.

      His secretary’s husband, Virgil, had taken Cole’s place in the cockpit for the flying lessons Cole had scheduled, but he preferred to be on the ground now, taking care of the shop. A job that had belonged to Cole before he’d bought out the business from Cap Hudson, the flight school’s previous owner.

      “Do you know where I can find him?”

      “He’s probably at the park right about now. I have to get over there myself.” Candy dropped the tiny brush back into the bottle and aimed a pointed look at the clock.

      “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of a local Realtor, would you?”

      “There’s only one. Sissy Perkins.”

      “Where is her office located?”

      “A block off Main. Right behind the bank.”

      “Thanks—”

      “But Sissy isn’t working today, either.”

      “The square dance competition?”

      Candy Sullivan’s shield against sarcasm had to be as thick as her bronze foundation because she smiled at him. “The box social. It starts at eleven, by the pavilion.”

      Cole glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might have a few minutes to talk to both his grandfather’s attorney and the Realtor.

      Or see Grace again.

      He shook away the thought and another one immediately took its place....

      Grace sitting on the rock, her bare toes drawing lazy circles in the water while she listened to him recite a passage from his English text. Splashing him if he dared to grumble.

      But the Grace he’d encountered the evening before wasn’t the one he remembered. That Grace wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get away from him.

      Cole felt a stab of regret for the way things had turned out.

      He’d thought about Grace over the years. Pictured her standing in a sunlit classroom against a chalkboard backdrop, the classics fanned out on her desk like a buffet. Each book a sample of a new literary adventure she would encourage reluctant students to try.

      He’d never imagined she would become a social worker and continue living in her childhood home. She was the one who’d challenged him to pursue his dreams.

      Plans change, she’d said.

      But what had changed? Her circumstances? Her goals? She’d told him what she was doing, but not why.

      Because it’s none of your business, Cole reminded himself.

      And right now, his business was somewhere in the park.

      He waited at the corner for a brightly painted ice-cream truck to lumber past before crossing Main Street.

      From the looks of it, half the town had already gathered in front of the pavilion. Cole stalked toward the makeshift stage set up in the shade of a towering maple, dodging kids and dogs and several people who looked like extras on the set of Little House on the Prairie.

      He paused to look around, trying to find Marty Sullivan’s face in the crowd.

      “I think the auction is about to start,” he heard someone say. “Let’s get closer to the stage. I can’t see what I’m bidding on from way back here.”

      “Just don’t bid on the one with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. That one’s mine.”

      “It’s Grace Eversea’s basket, ain’t it?”

      Cole’s head jerked around at the name. He eased around the trunk of the nearest tree so he could eavesdrop—see—better.

      Two guys close to his age stood several yards away. One of them was as tall and skinny as a fly rod, with shaggy blond hair and a full beard. The other a businessman of some kind, pale and clean-cut with a smile as tight as the garish purple tie knotted around СКАЧАТЬ