Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer

we could always eat lunch between those two pickup trucks over there.”

      She nibbled on her lower lip, clearly tempted by the suggestion.

      “I was kidding, Grace.”

      “Oh.” The flash of disappointment on her face was almost comical. “I suppose the tree will be fine.”

      “Everything looks great.” Cole lowered himself to the ground and relocated a June bug lumbering through the grass while Grace snapped open a square of gingham flannel that matched the ribbon on her basket.

      “Thank you.” She began to unpack the dishes and arrange them on the blanket, careful not to brush up against him.

      “Beautiful day.” Cole waded into the silence.

      “It’s supposed to be sunny and warm today and tomorrow.”

      “Looks like there’s a pretty good turnout.”

      Grace nodded. “Yes.”

      And they were back to making small talk. But because Cole had started it with the weather comment, he couldn’t really complain, now could he?

      “Everyone’s been talking about the celebration for months. A lot of people can trace their ancestors all the way back to the year the town was settled.” Grace was using her tour guide voice now. “The planning committee spent most of the winter researching local history and we had a chance to read through some of the old letters and diaries the family members kept.”

      Cole glanced at the white petticoat peeping out from below the ruffled hem of her dress. “I see they kept their ancestors’ clothes, too.”

      Except for the cowboy boots. Grace had been wearing them the night before, another small but charming glimpse of the girl he’d fallen for that summer. Before he’d been forced to put his own dreams and plan aside.

      “The historical society let us borrow them for the weekend.” Grace tugged off her bonnet and drops of sunlight splashed between the leaves, highlighting threads of mahogany in her hair. “It was Kate’s idea. A creative way to help people remember the past.”

      Unfortunately, Cole wasn’t having a difficult time doing that. Not with Grace sitting less than two feet away from him, carefully removing the crust from her sandwich....

      “What are you looking at?”

      Cole’s lips quirked. “You still don’t eat your crusts.”

      “No.” Grace glanced down at her plate. “Because they still taste like crusts.”

      The simple logic—and the way Grace’s nose wrinkled—made Cole smile. “I just figured that removing the crusts from a piece of bread was something a person...outgrew.”

      “Do you eat mushrooms?”

      Cole couldn’t prevent a shudder. “No.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because they taste like mushrooms?”

      “So in other words, a strong aversion to a particular food isn’t something a person necessarily outgrows.”

      “It’s not a strong—” Cole stopped. “I guess not.”

      Grace smiled.

      Okay. They were having a conversation about crusts and mushrooms, but at least it was a conversation. And he’d coaxed a smile from her.

      Cole considered that progress.

      Until Grace chucked her half-eaten sandwich back in the basket.

      “I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time, but the first tour starts in an hour and I have to get B.C. hitched up to the wagon.” She rose to her feet. “Don’t rush, though. Just leave the basket on the stage and I’ll pick it up when you’re...”

      Gone? Cole was tempted to fill in the blank while Grace searched for a polite word.

      “...finished.”

      He couldn’t help but wonder if she would have cut the time short if Shaggy or the guy in the purple tie had placed the highest bid.

      But it was probably for the best if he and Grace parted company. The same conclusion Cole had reached twelve years ago.

      “There you are!”

      Cole turned at the sound of a familiar voice and saw the auctioneer chugging toward them across the lawn.

      “You left before I had a chance to give you this.” The man stopped at the edge of the blanket and waved an envelope under Grace’s nose. “It’s the roster with the names of the people who signed up for your first tour.”

      “Thank you, Mayor.” She practically snatched it out of the man’s hand.

      “You look familiar.” The man’s attention shifted to Cole now. His snow-white mustache, waxed into points, hung from the shelf of his upper lip like icicles. “Do you have family around here?”

      Cole didn’t know what to say, not sure he was comfortable claiming a relationship with Sloan, one based solely on DNA.

      To his surprise, Grace stepped into the silence. “This is Cole Merrick, Mayor Dodd.”

      “Sloan’s grandson?”

      “That’s right.” The words stuck in Cole’s throat.

      “Sloan would be thrilled to know you’re back, son.” The mayor clapped him on the back. “That piece of land meant a lot to him.”

      Cole smiled.

      “It means a lot to me, too, sir.”

      The down payment on a new plane.

      Chapter Four

      “I wanna drink, Mama!”

      Grace heard the cheerful announcement a split second before a preschool girl popped up on the other side of the beverage table set up in the corner of Daniel Redstone’s barn. A pair of big blue eyes locked on the glass dispenser of ice-cold lemonade that Grace had filled before the square dance started.

      “All right.” The girl’s mother repositioned the sleeping infant cradled in her arms and smiled at Grace. “We’ll take one cup, please.”

      Grace ladled the lemonade into a plastic cup and the woman reached for it at the exact moment her daughter tugged on the strap of the diaper bag to get her attention. It started a chain reaction. Lemonade sloshed over the side of the cup, soaking the mother’s shirt, and the baby woke up.

      The woman’s smile disappeared as a piercing cry rent the air.

      “Here, Mama!” The girl snatched a napkin from the stack and the rest of them followed, sliding off the table like a miniature avalanche.

      Now the woman looked as if she were about to burst into tears. She tried to bend down to pick up the napkins and the diaper bag bumped a corner of the table.

      “Let me help,” Grace said quickly as the tower of plastic cups began to sway. She reached for the diaper bag, but suddenly found herself holding the baby, swaddled in a blue blanket, instead.

      “Thank you.” The children’s mother began to blot the moisture from her shirt with one of the napkins as she collected the rest of them from the ground. Once Grace recovered from her initial surprise, she smiled down at the infant in her arms.

      “Hey, sweetie,” she whispered. “Do you have a smile for me?”

      To Grace’s wonder, he stopped crying immediately and stared up at her, his expression changing from absolute misery to utter delight in the blink of an eye. The scent of baby powder and lotion washed over Grace, sweeter than anything she would find at a perfume counter. The tiny legs pedaled inside the blanket and Grace chuckled.

      “How many do you have?”