Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (32 page)

“Do you think the Sparrow Lake Library keeps that kind of information from a century ago? Priscilla's mother still works there part time.”

“Maybe not the local library. But the college library could have a history of the area. It would be far more comprehensive than the town library for sure. If they don't have the old newspapers online, they would probably still have them on some sort of microform.”

“Hmm. Checking that out sounds like an idea. If we do find the history, I'll have whatever facts there are to make potential clients feel more comfortable.”

“Let's do it, then.” That would give him more face time with Grace. “I'm done teaching tomorrow at three. Can you be free then?”

“I'll make certain that I am.”

They made plans on the way back to their vehicles. Grace would meet him at his classroom and they would spend the rest of the afternoon together.

Caleb walked Grace to her car and then hesitated a moment.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said.

A strand of hair played over her cheek. Using one finger, he brushed it aside and looked deep into her beautiful eyes. “I know investigating the area was an uncomfortable situation for you, so I'm glad I was with you. Truthfully, I enjoyed it. Enjoyed you.”

“Me, too.”

Her lips curving in a soft smile were too tempting to resist. He had to try them. Leaning in close, he stole a quick kiss. A soft brush of his lips across hers. A taste of what was to come if they kept spending time together.

Then they stared at each other for a moment, both grinning until Caleb said, “I'd better get going.”

“Me, too. See you tomorrow.”

“Right.”

Climbing into his truck, Caleb could hardly believe how much he was looking forward to spending a spring afternoon in a library.

* * *

G
RACE
ARRIVED
IN
the Sparrow Lake Community College science building the next day with a bounce in her step. She was going to gather factual information that she could use to fight the crazy rumors going around. A ghost cow, indeed! Digging up the real story of the old farmstead with Caleb was a plus. She couldn't wait to see him again.

Checking the calendar on her smartphone for the number of Caleb's classroom, Grace took the nearest stairs to the second floor. His room was halfway down the hall and students were quickly rushing out the door. As she drew closer, she could hear voices coming from the room—more specifically, Caleb's calm, firm voice.

“No, you can't turn in your observation journal entry next week. It was due today,” explained Caleb.

“I have to find another plot of woods. The one you told me to visit isn't there anymore.”

“Not there? It was there when I drove by it yesterday morning.”

“Well, maybe someone went in and chopped all the trees down, at least the decidiferous ones.”

“I think you mean deciduous,” said Caleb. “No, those trees were there, too.”

“Maybe they burned.”

“We would have heard the fire trucks from town.”

Grace peeked around the corner to see Caleb facing a tall skinny kid dressed in a baggy sports T-shirt.

“Well, I don't know what else to tell you, Prof,” the kid was going on.

“I'm sure you don't.” Caleb's dry tone and impassive expression hid what was probably irritation.

“It wasn't my fault.”

Caleb picked up his briefcase. “Don't worry, you won't flunk because of an observation journal, Jeffrey, but I suggest you come to class from now on and keep up with the other assignments.”

“I have to pass this class. Otherwise, I can't play basketball.”

Caleb looked toward the door and saw Grace, an expression of relief suffusing his face. “I suggest you work as hard at your classes as you do at basketball practice.”

“Yeah, right,” the kid grumbled as he exited the classroom ahead of Caleb, turned left at the hallway and loped off.

Grace grinned. “Wow, that was something. Does he really think you'd believe a section of woods disappeared?” She couldn't imagine giving that kind of an excuse in college.

“I have no idea. We get some kids who don't know what they want to do in life, and their parents push them to keep going to school. Which is good...school, that is. Except for the ones who refuse to work at it. Or are more interested in basketball and hanging out with their buds.” He closed the classroom door behind them. “Now you and I can get down to some real work.” He pointed toward the stairs. “This way.”

They quickly left the science building, one of five similar buildings spread over a couple of acres of land just outside town. Caleb seemed to be at home here, and Grace thought that was exactly as it should be. Work should be welcoming and satisfying and make a person happy. Today Caleb Blackthorne looked as happy as she was feeling.

“It's a beautiful place to spend your days,” she said. “You're awfully lucky.”

“I had a little to do with the environment. Several years ago, when I was first hired, and the last of the buildings was under construction, I was on the coordination committee, so I can take some pride in how well the campus all came together.”

“That's the way I feel about Green Meadows,” she admitted.

“Which means you've found your place. You simply can't give up your dream because your father wants something else for you,” he reminded her.

Grace clenched her jaw rather than answer. Her father told her she had to do one thing, now Caleb told her she had to do something else. Two men telling her what to do. Right. She needed that, especially since she was firmly in the middle, wanting to fulfill her dream, but also wanting to make her father happy. Some days she almost convinced herself she could figure out how to do both, but realistically, she knew it came down to making a choice. And she already knew what that choice had to be. Dad had done everything for her to give her a great life. Could she do any less for him?

They reached the library, which was located in the middle of the campus. When they entered, Caleb approached a raised desk in the center of the room where an attractive woman sat, a single thick streak of gray through her otherwise dark hair. “Hey, Lorraine, I could use your help today.”

The woman beamed at him. “Whatever you need, Caleb.”

“We're looking for information on the old Whitman farm.”

“Whitman. Hmm. What kind of information?”

“We want to find out what happened to the owners. There's a rumor going around about murders and hauntings and such.”

Lorraine's eyebrows shot up. “I've been hearing something like that about the new community.” She turned her attention to Grace.

“Yep, Green Meadows is my project. I'm Grace Huber.”

They shook hands.

“Nice to meet you, Grace.”

Caleb said, “Green Meadows is a terrific place. You're the perfect person to spread the word. Some of the college's full-time faculty might be interested in living there.”

Lorraine nodded. “I'm sure.”

“Or if you know anyone else who wants to take a look at a condo or town house, let Grace know,” Caleb continued.

He was being rather pushy, Grace thought. She needed more sales but announcing the availability of the dwellings to everyone they spoke to was not the way she wanted to do it. Not wanting to sound desperate, she preferred making acquaintances, then sending out mailers.

“And don't worry about those rumors about hauntings,” he added.

“Hmm.” The librarian looked thoughtful. “Hauntings.”

Wondering why he had to bring that up, Grace joked, “Our friendly ghost tour operator is making up stories to get more customers. I hope he won't discourage anybody.”

The librarian laughed. “I hardly think so.” Then she got back to the task at hand. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“We need records that start at the end of World War I,” Grace said. “Not sure how many years we need to check.”

“Give me a few minutes.”

Lorraine disappeared into the bowels of the library. Grace wandered over to a directory and map both of the campus and of the building, which also housed offices, the computer lab, the media production center and the cafeteria. Everything a student could possibly need outside the classroom. A large area of the library was devoted to research computers, and she could see that most were in use by students.

A few minutes later, Lorraine returned with a stack of boxes. “This is the
Sparrow Lake Journal
collection. Each microfiche holds a year of newspaper accounts. I brought all years from 1818 through 1925.”

“That should do it,” Grace said.

“Thanks, Lorraine.” Taking the stack from her, Caleb led the way to a bank of computers hooked up to other equipment.

Grace was glad to see that, at the moment, they had free access.

“The microfiche and microfilm readers actually feed into the computers,” Caleb said. “And if the original materials aren't the best, they can be manipulated so they are more readable. You can even save a file and make notes on it, then scan and email it to yourself if you want.”

“Wow. I guess I'm a little behind on technology.”

“You probably didn't have reason to go searching through old records before.”

“True.”

“It's easy enough. I'll get you started.”

Grace sat. Caleb stood behind her and helped her hook up the microfiche that covered the
Sparrow Lake Journal
in 1918. He was so close and kept brushing her arm or hand with his, leaving her wildly distracted every time they made contact. It was a relief that once he set her up, Caleb seated himself at the station next to hers. Maybe now she could concentrate.

Going through the microfiche via the computer was fast work. Though the armistice hadn't been signed until November 11, Grace started in January and quickly scanned the weekly front pages, which covered the war and had pieces on local heroes who gave up their lives for their country. Nothing about anyone named Whitman, though. When she got to the end of the year, she glanced over at Caleb, who seemed to be going through 1919 at a more deliberate pace. He was doing more than simply taking a look at front pages. He was scanning through the entire journal, though in those days, the local paper was only six pages, so it didn't take him all that long, either.

When Caleb realized she was watching him, he said, “Oh, you're done. I'll set you up with 1920.”

“Perhaps you could simply tell me what to do so I don't have to bother you every time.”

But he was the one bothering her. He gave her instructions as she asked, but he stood so close behind her that his breath feathered the hair around her ear. A thrill shot through Grace so that she lost her grip on the microfiche, and the next thing she knew, Caleb grabbed for her hand...and covered it with his own. Her pulse surged. Surely he could feel it. Surely he could tell he took away her breath.

But when he said, “Here, let me show you how to do it,” she wondered if he even had a clue.

She concentrated on the process Caleb demonstrated for her. She really tried her best, but when he was done, she wasn't certain that she'd absorbed enough details to manage it herself.

Even so, she smiled up at him and murmured, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Yes, there was a problem. Caleb Blackthorne was a problem. Ack! No, to be honest,
he
wasn't the problem.
She
was. He was doing just peachy. While he was on an even keel, her attraction to the man was getting her more and more flustered.

She had to get her emotions under control.

He obviously liked her or he wouldn't have asked her to go camping with his class. But that was still more than a week away. Too bad he hadn't asked her out for the coming weekend...although she could ask him.

She had to stop thinking about him or she would never get anything done. Caleb was back in his own seat, setting up a new microfiche. Forcing herself to focus on the
Journal
on her computer screen, she went through 1920, a week at a time, checking every page.

And then, in the third week of December, she found the story: Couple Dies Due To Early Snowstorm.

Glancing over the article, she said, “Maynard Whitman did die in the farmhouse in 1920.”

The next thing she knew, Caleb was behind her reading aloud. “Mr. Whitman died from a head wound. It appeared he took an accidental fall in the kitchen and hit his head on the edge of the table. His wife, Arlene, was found on the road. She died of exposure, and authorities conjectured she was trying to go for help for her husband.”

He was close enough that his voice vibrated through Grace, distracting her yet again. What would it feel like if he put his arms around her...touched his lips to her ear...

“Well, that's a totally different story from the one Mr. Pryce is selling.”

Grace practically choked at the reminder of their purpose for being there. “So no one thought it was murder.”

That did relieve her somewhat. She could counter the tour operator's claims. What was stressing her out at the moment was...well, Caleb! Grace forced her attention back to the screen as he continued to read.

“The Whitmans are survived by their only son, Frank, institutionalized in the state hospital after returning broken by the Great War.”

“Poor man,” Grace murmured.

“Institutionalized. Not running around with weapons looking for more Germans. And no murdered ghost cow, either.”

“Well, that's a relief to know.”

“And now you have proof.”

He helped her scan the article and send it to herself. Rather, he pretty much handled it all—he was definitely a take-charge type of man—and Grace spent the time just staring at him. He was also something to see, especially up close.

When he finished, they took all the microfiche back to Lorraine.