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Blast it. The last thing he needed was for his son to have a crush on his substitute piano teacher—the woman who showed up in the dead of night and who might take off the same way. He couldn’t bear to see any more disappointment in Steven’s eyes.
How in hell was a child supposed to get over the heartbreak of his mother walking out at such a tender age, with not so much as a phone call on his eighth birthday?
If Kent had his way, Steven would have a couple of siblings by now, but that was the last thing Diana had wanted. Born and raised in Heartlandia, just like him, she wanted to move to a big city where she could spread her cosmopolitan wings and play wife to a doctor who made a staggering salary. She wanted parties and designer shopping sprees. She did not want to be married to a guy running his own urgent-care facility and having to be both businessman and doctor rolled into one. A guy who couldn’t predict which side of the red line they’d land on at the end of each month.
She’d thought being married to a doctor meant she’d be home free, rolling in dough. What with staff salaries to pay, the never-ending need for supplies or new equipment, liability insurance up to his ears and the lease on that overgrown building, some months he had to take a rain check on his own salary. Good thing he lived in the same house he grew up in, the one his parents practically gave away when they sold it to him and moved to Bend, Oregon, to enjoy their retirement.
Bottom line, Diana had wanted out. She’d wanted to be far away. She’d wanted San Francisco, not Heartlandia. She’d wanted to be single again. Single without a child hampering her whims.
“See, Dad? I can almost play all the notes.”
“That’s great.” He applauded. “If you practice every day, maybe you’ll have it memorized by next week.”
“Yeah! That would be the coolest. I could surprise her.”
“Now don’t go getting ahead of yourself. She’s only substituting for Mayor Rask. She may not even be here next week.” Kent went into the kitchen to throw some food together for dinner. Steven tagged along, practically on his heels.
“Can we invite Ms. Desi to the festival this weekend, huh?”
Kent didn’t want to speak for someone else, but he was quite sure Desi would be bored senseless at their hokey small-town Scandinavian festival. Wasn’t that what Diana used to call it? “I don’t know.”
“I could buy her some aebleskiver with my allowance. I just know she’d love them.”
Kent wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and hold him close, tell him to be careful about getting his hopes up where women were concerned. Instead, he pulled open the cupboard and rustled around the canned foods for some baked beans. He hoped to change the subject with food, one of Steven’s favorite topics. He’d grill some chicken and steam some broccoli, and pretend he didn’t hear Steven tell him “for the gazillion-millionth time” that he hated broccoli.
“Dad? Dad! Can we?”
Kent quit opening the can, inhaled and closed his eyes. “We’ll see.”
“Please, please, please?”
“I’ll think about it. Okay?” Feeling a major cave coming on, Kent went the diversion route. “Now go wash your hands.”
Already having his father pegged, Steven triumphantly pumped the air with his fist. “Yes!”
The never-say-die kid sure knew how to work his old man. Kent quietly smiled and went back to cooking.
After dinner and a lopsided conversation with Steven talking about life on the school playground and one quick confession that he thought Ms. Desi smelled like his favorite candy—tropical-flavored SweeTarts—Kent mentally relented. Why allow his lousy attitude about women to get in the way of his son enjoying himself? Besides, when Kent was a kid he had a new crush every week. Steven would soon forget “Ms. Desi” and all would be back to normal.
After he cleaned up the kitchen he’d take a walk next door and ask Desi if she’d like to come along on Saturday. He wouldn’t say a word to Steven, though, so the kid wouldn’t feel the sting if she said thanks but no.
An hour later, Steven was showered and in his pajamas and planted in front of the TV in the family room.
Kent stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering why in hell he felt compelled to brush his teeth and gargle before heading next door. He cursed under his breath as he headed downstairs toward the door. If he didn’t watch it, next he’d be picking posies from the yard for the substitute teacher.
Nothing made sense about asking the new lady in town along just because his son wanted her to come. One thing was painfully clear, though. He’d been hanging out with eight-year-old boys too much lately. Then one last thought wafted up as he crossed his lawn, heading for Gerda’s place—even an eight-year-old could see Desi was easy on the eyes.
* * *
Desi sat on a wicker glider on the large front porch behind the second arch, the huge living room window behind her. She’d thrown one of Gerda’s warm shawls over her shoulders to ward off the chill from the night air. Under the dim porch light she was barely able to make out the print in the Music Today magazine she’d surprisingly found on her grandmother’s coffee table.
Soon she’d have to switch to her eReader and that novel she’d started before she’d left home if she wanted to stay outside. And she did want to stay outdoors to give herself and Gerda some space. There’d been too many extended silences, too many bitten back questions from Desi and started but abruptly ended sentences from Gerda. So much to ask. So much to say. So hard to begin.
Tonight her grandmother seemed preoccupied with mayoral work, and Desi felt out of place. She stared at her scuffed brown boots, wishing she knew how to broach the subject of her mother. What was she like as a kid? Did she always love chili cheeseburgers? What made her think she had to run away when she got pregnant instead of telling her parents and working things out? But people were tricky. You couldn’t always get right to the heart of the matter without first building trust, and her grandmother was obviously holding back the details.
She looked around the large, homey porch and inhaled the night air, even detected a hint of that jasmine from the side of the house. She twitched her nose. Something about this old house calmed her down, as if it had reached inside and said, Hey, you might just belong here. This is where your mother grew up; these rooms, scents, colors, textures and sounds are your roots.
Soles scuffing up the walkway averted her attention from her thoughts. Her gaze darted to the tall blond man from the bland house next door—the overprotective father with some sort of grudge—Kent.
An unnatural expression smacking of chagrin eclipsed his handsome face. It lowered his brows and projected caution from those heavy-lidded eyes. The sight of him set off a pop of tension in her palms.
He cleared his throat, and she closed the magazine. “Nice night, huh?”
One corner of her mouth twitched with amusement over his awkward opening. “Seems kind of cold to me.”
“That’s Oregon for you.”
She smiled, deciding to toss the poor man a lifeline. “Is it?” When was the last time he’d talked socially with a woman?
“Yup. Unpredictable, except for rain.” He came closer to the porch but not all the way up, one foot two steps higher than the other. He put his palms on his knee and leaned on them, an earnest expression humbling his drop-dead looks. “Listen, I want to apologize in case I came off cranky this afternoon.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Cranky? My grandmother might get cranky, but you, well, you seemed bothered. Yeah, that’s the word—bothered.”
He scratched one of those lowered brows. “Sorry.”
“I was just being nice to your son, not planning on snatching him. Making him feel good about his progress, that’s all.”
“Yeah, and he couldn’t stop talking about what a great teacher you are when we got home, too.”
She smiled and magnanimously nodded her head. Yes, I am a good piano teacher, thank you very much. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not hardly.”
As he got closer, the tension in her palms spread to her shoulders, and she needed to stretch. Couldn’t help it.
He watched with interest. “So anyway,” he said, “this time every June we have this thing called the Summer Solstice Scandinavian Festival. Maybe your grandmother already told you about it?”
She shook her head.
“But as mayor pro tem she starts off the parade,” he said.
“She hasn’t said a word about it to me.”
Gerda hadn’t been feeling well tonight, and she’d seemed distracted after a hushed phone conversation. During dinner, Desi had talked about the piano students, even though a big question loomed in her mind. Why couldn’t you and Mom ever patch things up?
“Really?” He seemed surprised.
During dinner, Desi couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject about how bad their mother-daughter relationship must have been. Still, every indication—from the way her grandmother had opened the home to her to the way Desi caught her sneaking loving looks at her—suggested she was wanted. Yet that feeling of not belonging prevailed, along with the thought that Gerda was simply doing her duty out of guilt.
She shook her head at Kent. “The subject of an annual festival never came up.”
“Well, the thing is, Steven would really like you to go with us to the parade and festival on Saturday.”
Desi liked seeing the big man so completely out of his comfort zone and sat straighter. “So he sent you over to ask me out?”
Finally, a smile. Well, half of a smile. “Not exactly.”
“He doesn’t know you’re asking, and you’d rather die than ask a tall, dark stranger to come along, so you snuck over behind his back to ask me to say no?”
The look he shot her seemed to ask, Are you a mind reader? Or she could be reading into it, just a wee bit.
“Not it at all. And, man, you’ve got quite an imagination.” So much for her theory. He shook his head with slow intent. “I was thinking more that you’d rather pull weeds than be stuck with me for an afternoon. But Steven... He’s a kick. He wants to spend his allowance on you.”
She tilted her head, charmed by her young absentee suitor. “Not every day a male wants to spend his allowance on me. How can I refuse?”
Kent scratched the corner of his mouth. “You were right—I didn’t tell him I was asking you in case you didn’t want to come with us.”
“How thoughtful of you, protecting Steven.” Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the vibes he gave off. “And thanks for giving me an out...but I’d like to go.” Sorry to disappoint.
Surprise opened his eyes wide. His sexy bedroom eyes—there were no other words for them. The sight of them did something deep in her belly, making her sit up and take notice. “I’m starting to feel a little cooped up in this big old house already, and I’d like to see the rest of the town.” See what my mother ran away from.
His quick smile died before it reached his cheeks. “Before you take off again?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She didn’t have time to analyze what stick had been surgically implanted into Kent Larson’s spine, or why he was giving her such a hard time about coming and going as she pleased, so she ignored him. She’d stay in Heartlandia as long as she wanted or needed, and she didn’t need his permission to leave when she was ready. “I meant, I’m looking forward to spending more time with Steven and seeing more of Heartlandia. And you can tell him I said yes.”
“Good. That’s good.” He sounded hesitant. “Steven will be excited.”
And what about you? She’d been around the country a few dozen times, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask. Was her crazy physical reaction every time he came around by any chance mutual?
Did this Viking from the bland house next door have any soul? Any passion? He seemed to be bound by courtesy and what was expected of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something must have happened to make those invisible walls so high. Yet Steven was as lovable and huggable as a soft teddy bear.
At least Kent hadn’t spoiled the boy with his standoffish attitude. Yet.
With his mission accomplished, and without further words, Kent had already turned to leave.
“Tell Steven I’m really looking forward to going, okay?”
He tossed a thoughtful gaze back at her, took her in with a leisurely tour of her entire body. It was the first sign of life she’d seen in him since the night they’d met in the dark, giving her the inkling that maybe her physical response to him was reciprocated.
A subtle shiver rolled through her, and she clutched the shawl tighter and closer to her neck.
“I’ll do that,” he said. “We’ll pick you up on Saturday morning around ten.” And off he went, almost smiling, down the steps and toward the dark path home.
“Got it,” she said softly, grateful the boy would be along to ward off the unexplainable reaction she had to the big guy with the aloof attitude.
* * *
Saturday morning was cool and damp, and Desi pulled her hair tightly back into a bun and covered it with a knit cap, careful not to catch her huge hoop earrings. She zipped her thin hoodie to the neck and did the final is my butt too big in these jeans? check via the full-length mirror. The doorbell rang and she stopped obsessing over what nature had given her and hustled out the bedroom door.
Gerda had answered the door already, and Steven and Kent hung back just outside on the porch, talking quietly.
“Oh, good, you’re ready,” Gerda said when Desi appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got to go. Need to be there a half hour before the parade starts.”
Desi rushed down the steps. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
Gerda was already on the porch and halfway toward her car in the driveway. “See you there!”
“We’ll be by your booth for some aebleskiver later,” Kent said.
Gerda’s smile widened, setting off a network of wrinkles. “I’ll make some fresh just for you,” she said, looking at Steven.
She’d be manning the Daughters of Denmark bakery booth all afternoon after playing grand marshal. Somehow the old woman had become a figurehead for Heartlandia, and it was another duty she’d hesitantly accepted.
Pride broke into Desi’s chest and she waved to her grandmother. “I’ll be cheering for you!”
The car door closed and Gerda continued to smile as she backed out. It always caught Desi off guard how much of her mother she saw in her grandmother’s face. So far they hadn’t talked nearly enough about her mother, maybe because it was still too painful, but little by little they’d begun to forge their own cautious relationship.
After Gerda had gone, Desi looked at Kent. “Do I need an umbrella?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Kent said, obviously enjoying his first glance at Desi, shaking her up with his sharp blue eyes. “You look like a Scandinavian flag.”
Stopped in her tracks, Desi did a mental inventory of her choice of colors. A bright blue knit cap and red sweatshirt. “Gee, thanks. Just what every girl longs to hear.”
“You look cool, Ms. Desi,” Steven said, beaming at her.
Maybe she’d ignore the father and hang out with the son all morning. “Thanks, Steven.” She stopped herself from messing his shaggy, nearly white-blond hair, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it—especially if he was planning to spend his allowance on her. And she had every intention of paying him back with the money she earned from her part-time calligraphy jobs.
“We better get going.” Kent nudged Steven along with a hand to his neck. Steven halfheartedly tried to kick his dad’s leg. Kent played along, kicking back, missing by a mile. The boy giggled.
Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Desi followed them off the porch toward the curb.
They rode over in a white—why was she not surprised—pickup truck, sitting three across with Steven between them. After a brief silence, Steven spoke up.
“The sons and daughters of Heartlandia first came together to start this festival fifty years ago,” Steven recited like a tour guide for the city. “The early summer festival celebrates our Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish and Danish heritage—” he stumbled over some of the words, but managed to spit them out pretty well for an eight-year-old “—from the early fishermen settlers first stranded on our coast.” He stopped long enough to swallow. “Our first peoples, the Chinook, saved and nursed our shipwrecked forefathers to health and taught them the secrets of hunting and fishing the waters of the great Columbia River.” A quick picture of Linus explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown came to mind with the quiet yet capable way Steven told his city’s history.
“Okay, Steven, you don’t need to repeat your entire class presentation for Ms. Desi.”
“I liked it. Thank you, Steven.”
“As you can tell,” Kent interjected, “Hjartalanda is proud of both the Scandinavian and Chinook heritage.”
“We have a special celebration for the Chinook peoples in—” Steven screwed up his face, eyes up and to the right. “What’s that month, Dad?”
“October.”
“Yeah, October. Then we have a beer barn, too, so that gets the old farts to come.”
Desi sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself.
