Chapter One
Thirty-six minutes to go. And though Sarah Westerveld had been driving west for five days to get to her old hometown of Millars Crossing, she needed every second of those thirty-six minutes to compose herself before meeting her father.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the song blasting from the radio and waited at the town’s single stoplight. Not much had changed in the eight years she had been gone. The bakery, the bank, the drugstore, and the flower shop were all still there. The only new addition was her cousin’s coffee shop, taking up one corner of the two main streets of town.
And the place she had arranged to meet her father.
Since she had moved away, she had received an envelope from him on the first of every month, his decisive handwriting on the outside, a check inside. Though e-transfer would have been easier, he always sent checks.
Once a year he would give her some information about the family, but the rest of the year, just the check.
A few weeks ago, however, inserted in the envelope was a single piece of paper with the words “Come Home. I want to talk to you” written on it.
When she phoned to find out what he wanted, he kept the call short, as he always did, and businesslike, as he always did. He said he wanted to tell her what he had to, face-to-face. And then, to her surprise, he had added a ‘please’, which was certainly not something her father was wont to do.
At first, she was tempted to leave it. Though she never cashed his checks, he kept sending them. As if he was trying, in his own removed way, to maintain some connection with her.
But after her up-coming trip to South America with her friends, she would be settling into her job out east. A six-hour flight one way. She knew she wouldn’t be coming back to Millars Crossing very often then. This was a chance to connect with family, re-live some of the memories. So, she agreed.
Her father wanted to meet her at home, but after all this time, she had no desire to visit with him in that large empty house echoing with memories. So, they had arranged to meet at her cousin Janie’s coffee shop, Coffee on the Corner. Neutral ground, and not far from his office.
A horn honked behind her and Sarah jumped. The light had turned green. She gunned her car through the intersection and slid over the snow and into the lone parking spot down the block from her cousin’s coffee shop. Obviously Mr. Kennerman, the street maintenance man, hadn’t had time to get to snow-plowing the streets.
She wound her scarf around her throat and pulled out a toque, jamming it over her long, blond hair before stepping from the warm confines of her car into the crisp winter weather.
I missed this, Sarah thought, tugging on a pair of gloves. Missed the bite of the cold, the invigorating freshness of the chilly air. Sarah pulled back the cuff of her glove.
Thirty-five minutes yet.
She had planned to stay at Janie’s while she was here. Her father hadn’t objected when she told him. Still, she wasn’t sure if it was because he understood why, or because he simply didn’t want her in the family house either.
Sarah locked her car and glanced down the street. The trees, now bare, reached farther over the street than she remembered. One of the older buildings in town had been renovated to its original glory. Flags, hanging from new streetlights, drifted in the cool breeze that scuttled rivulets of snow across the street.
The town was busy this early in the day. Busy for Millars Crossing, which meant most of the parking spots on Main Street were taken. A few people wandered down the sidewalks, their conversation punctuated by puffs of steam. Sarah shivered as she hurried along the path toward the coffee shop, anticipation fluttering through her at the thought of seeing her cousin after all this time.
The door of the coffee shop swung open and a man stepped out.
Dark was the first thought that came to mind. Dark eyebrows. Dark hair. A lean jaw shadowed by whiskers. Angular features molded in a look that both challenged and engaged all comers. His coffee-brown hair brushed the collar of a faded canvas coat open to reveal a denim jacket and sweatshirt. Brown eyes swept over her and Sarah’s heart did a slow turn in her chest.
Logan Carleton.
Logan of the scribbles in her notebook, the long, slow looks across the gymnasium, and kisses that still haunted her.
Logan of the Across the River Carletons of whom her father couldn’t speak without risking a coronary. Which, in turn, had given the broodingly handsome Logan an additional forbidden appeal.
An appeal that only grew when they secretly started dating.
He still had it, she thought as she met eyes Sarah thought held no sway over her anymore. But old emotions flickered deep within her and the eight years she’d been gone slipped away as easily as a young girl’s tears.
Eight years ago all he’d had to do was send her that crooked smile across the cab of his truck and her heart would do the same slow turn it just had.
Sarah put the brakes on those silly, schoolgirl thoughts. She was older now. Wiser. Harder. She had left Millars Crossing with tears in her eyes and an unbearable ache in her heart because of this man. Despite dates, a few boyfriends here and there, just seeing him brought up feelings she thought she had reconciled into her past.
And then his mouth lifted in a faintly cynical smile negating the connection.
“Sarah Westerveld. So you’ve come back home.” The tone in his voice was cooler than the freezing air.
“Hello, Logan,” she said quietly. In a town as small as Millars Crossing, this first meeting was inevitable. She just hadn’t counted on it being five minutes after her arrival.
“You remembered who I am.” He lifted one eyebrow. “I’m surprised.”
His tone cut. But life and time away from Millars Crossing had changed her. She wasn’t the girl who longed for his approval. Needed his smile.
“I was sorry to hear about your father’s death.” She had stayed in touch with her friends and family here, so she knew.
Logan’s eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought she had crossed an unseen line.
“Me too,” he said, his voice growing soft as if remembering the man Sarah knew he cared for so much. “He had a hard life.”
“That he did.” And Sarah knew part of the blame for that difficulty could be laid at her father’s door.
Nine years ago, Jack Carleton had been falsely accused of cheating his business partner. The information had scandalized the community and, even though Jack had been exonerated, the verdict hadn’t stopped Frank, Sarah’s father, from canceling his businesses’ gravel-crushing contract with Jack. This in turn created the animosity between Frank and Jack that Sarah couldn’t completely understand.
“I heard you took over your father’s gravel business,” Sarah continued, determined to act as if meeting Logan was no different than meeting any other high school acquaintance. She had a hard time looking at him, so she focused on the top button of his jacket. “How is that going for you?”
“It’s going good and hopefully things turn around this year.”
Sarah couldn’t stop her gaze from slipping up to his, then regretted the impulse.
“So how long are you around for this time?” he continued.
“I’m here to visit my father. Catch up with my relatives before I start my job out east.”