Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (66 page)

The ladies sorted themselves out around the back of the boat, not-too-subtly leaving the bow for Dylan and Karla.

“Do you think they're up to something?” Dylan finally chuckled, thinking it was better to own up to things than opt for denial.

“Gosh, whatever gave you that idea?” Karla's eyes grew wide in mock astonishment.

“They're just having a bit of fun, you know.” He shot a glance back at the group, who were chatting away between casting lines or throwing an occasional look at him and Karla with whispered commentary. “Harmless, mostly.” Then, just to take the edge off, he said, “Maybe I should tango with you up here—you know, something just to show them up.”

It was a terrible idea, but he couldn't ignore that there was a part of him that wanted to pursue Karla. It was just that there were too many other parts of him ready to shut down that idea for the dead-end prospect that it was.

“You know how to tango?”

He regretted the slip. “I took classes. Yvonne thought it was trendy and liked to show off at parties.” His brain concocted the split-second image of Karla's dark hair trailing down as he took her into a low dip—the exact opposite of Yvonne's tight, sophisticated bun of blond hair—and he swallowed more coffee to clear his head. He leaned starboard for a second, knowing it would rock the boat a bit. “Nautical tango. Bad idea. One of us would end up swimming.”

“If not both of us.” Karla selected a worm, dangling it up. “Help me pick a loser here.”

“A what?”

“Look,” she edged closer, lowering her voice, “the last thing I need is to catch another big fish today. Someone else needs to land in the limelight this morning, if you know what I mean. Gordon Falls' champion female fisherman should be someone who is staying longer than one season, don't you think?”

He liked that she thought of the others, even after they'd abducted her and played dockside matchmaker. Still, was she going out of her way to remind him that her time in Gordon Falls was coming to an end? He leaned in and took the worm from her, slyly returning it to the bait container. “Don't bait your hook at all. Just drop it in the water bare. I'll cover for you.”

“Oooh!” came an excited squeal from the back of the boat. “I've got one!”

“See?” Dylan found himself smiling at her. “My plan's working already.”

* * *

By the time they'd finished their morning expedition, the women had become suspicious of Karla's lack of success. They teased her about “letting Tina win,” especially when Tina landed a nice big bluegill that should meet her requirement for a good showing with the menfolk. In fact, Karla was the only person not to pull in several nice fish, and she didn't seem to mind her empty haul one bit.

“I had fun,” she said as Dylan helped her climb out of the boat. “Unexpected, way-too-early fun, but fun just the same.”

“Now you can talk me up to all your city friends.” Dylan had meant it to sound casual, but it put a sore punctuation on the end of what had been a really enjoyable morning. For all the growing attraction he felt for Karla, nothing changed the fact that she'd be moving 160 miles away in a matter of weeks. She'd even told him her secret about the incredible internship she'd been offered—how on earth could he hope to compete with that kind of opportunity? Only a jerk would try to draw a smart woman away from such a bright future.

As for right now, the pressure was on. They had two weeks to finish plans for the celebration and concoct the surprise handoff to Violet and Karl—and speaking of surprises! When Karla confided what she'd learned about the two seniors, Dylan nearly dropped his pole into the river.

It was the last thing he needed; another Gordon Falls man finding true love. Some days small towns were just too small.

Chapter Eleven

“C
ome here, Karla. I don't think I've ever shown you this.” Grandpa methodically worked his way through the stock room at the back of the coffee shop to the little alcove where he kept a small desk and a drawer of files. He wasn't here in a working capacity today—he hadn't yet officially returned—but was just stopping by for a visit.

She followed her grandfather to the back office, remembering how much she'd loved sitting with him back here when she was little—it was like a secret hiding place. Even when he hadn't been in the shop in weeks, no one sat at the desk in his absence; it was Karl's space and probably always would be. A little knot rose in her throat as she watched him ease himself carefully into the old chair. The day of “Karl's without Karl” was coming. It was probably nearer than anyone cared to admit. Karla couldn't stand the thought, and yet it was clear to everyone—except Grandpa—that it was too much for him to handle alone. It made it so much harder to tell him she was leaving.

She edged past a box of paper napkins to join him in the cluttered little corner. “What did you want to show me, Grandpa?”

He pointed to a framed dollar bill hanging on the wall. It wasn't an unusual thing—many restaurants and lots of businesses framed their first transaction and hung it on the wall. “I've seen this before. It's your first dollar, I know.”

Grandpa lifted the small black frame from its place on the wall. Karla wasn't that surprised to see a faded spot in its place—the thing had been hanging there for years. “Yes, but read the inscription.”

There, in faded ballpoint pen, were the words
Best Wishes, Oscar
.

“Oscar was your first customer?” It was hard to envision him wishing anyone well.

“He was different back then. We were good friends.” Regret softened Grandpa's eyes and his words. Suddenly it was easier to see why he put up with the sour-faced grocer and kept his coffee at a ridiculous price.

She sat down on a box, staring at the words. “What happened?”

“He was married, you know. He and his wife, Alice, were the best of friends with your grandmother and I. Did all kinds of stuff together. Alice was your father's godmother. We had grand times.”

Karla looked up. “And then?”

“Oscar opened the store a year before I opened this place. We'd spend endless hours plotting and planning our little town empires.” He chuckled. “Oh, we had such dreams—Oscar more than me. He wanted to own a chain of grocery stores up and down the river. I think he would, too, if it hadn't been for Alice.”

“Alice?”

“Oscar worked hard. Long hours. Alice was pregnant, so she mostly stayed home. Your grandmother would help her out, keep her company and such, seeing how Oscar was gone so much...” Grandpa drew a deep breath, then went on. “One night Oscar was at the store during a big storm, worried about the new roof he'd just put on. Alice was home, but she got nervous so she decided to drive to the store and spend the night there with him rather than being home alone. That was back when Tyler Street ran down right close to the river.”

There was a levee now between Tyler Street and the river, and for good reason. Karla felt her hand stray to her throat. “No.”

“She missed the turn and the car slid into the river. Current took it almost a hundred yards they say, before it lodged under the bridge. They wanted to put a plaque there, but Oscar wouldn't let them. Never seen a man come unglued like that, and I hope to never again.”

Suddenly Grandpa's coffee discount seemed like a quiet kindness. Only they never spoke like the old friends Grandpa made them out to be. “That's so sad.”

“Margaret and I tried to be there for him, to help him along, but it was as if our happiness just made his tragedy worse. Three's hard to manage comfortably, you know? By the time Margaret passed away, there'd been too much water under the bridge—literally—to pick up the friendship. He comes in for breakfast, I serve him coffee and listen to him complain.”

Grandpa let out an enormous sigh. “And I remember this dollar back here and why I'm glad I never wanted to own a chain of restaurants.” He returned the dollar to its place on the wall, one finger touching the edge of the frame. Karla noticed one corner was worn down, as if he touched it often.

Sadness pinched her heart and a lump rose to her throat. How easily she'd dismissed Oscar as just a grouch without wondering what had soured him so. She looked back at her grandfather. “Why did you want me to know this now?”

Grandpa's hand moved from the frame to clasp her own hand. “Because I know you have big dreams. And big dreams are great things, but only if you don't let them get in the way of what really matters. Don't let anyone tell you your dreams are too big, but don't let your plans get so big that they don't leave room in your life for someone, either.”

Did he know? Had Dad told him? She looked at a yellowed newspaper clipping on the wall above the dollar. Brittle around the edges, it showed a grinning Karl and Margaret Kennedy behind the cash register, a tenth anniversary special written on the chalkboard behind them. Karla felt tears sting her eyes. “You and Grandma made a great team.”

“I think it's time you became part of that team, Karla. You've done a fine job here. A fine job. That's made me realize it might be time for me to start letting go. Maybe do more fishing. Let the next generation of Kennedys show how they can do.”

Karla thought her heart would twist in half. She couldn't put it off any longer. “I've loved working here, Grandpa—really I have.” She knew her tone conveyed what she was going to say next, and the sight of the glow leaving his eyes broke her heart. “But this is your dream. It's not mine.”

He said nothing, just slowly returned his gaze to the framed dollar on the wall. He touched the corner with his finger again, and the gesture had the feel of a goodbye. Karla's throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. “You've heard me talk about Rooster's, Grandpa. That's my dream.” She put her hand on his, but he did not turn his palm over to clasp her hand the way he usually did. “I'm hoping Rooster's leads me to someone as good for me as Grandma was for you.”

“You and that chicken place.” That's what he'd taken to calling her plans. It was her fault that out of pity, she'd always couched her plans for Rooster's as something far-off and long-term.

“Yeah,” she said, wiping one eye. “Me and that chicken place. I have a great internship at a fancy hotel in Chicago that starts on July 16. I'll need to be back in Chicago by then, Grandpa. It will open a lot of doors for me, but it will work because of everything I learned here.”

“You've done so well here.” Grandpa sounded dangerously close to pleading, twisting the knife in Karla's heart even further. “Even Oscar likes you.”

She tried to laugh, but the threat of tears squelched the sound. “Gosh, you'd never know. I was thinking he found me a pretty poor substitution.”

“That's the thing about some people. You have to look down past the parts everyone else sees. And if you can do that, well, then, that's a gift.” Grandpa started to drag himself up out of the chair. “Everyone says they come here for the pie, but it's about how you look them in the eye. You remember that.”

Karla hugged her grandfather tight. “When I open Rooster's, will you be my first dollar?”

The resignation in Grandpa's eyes pressed on her shoulder like a hundred pounds. He poked her nose the way he used to when she was a tiny girl swinging her legs at the shop counter while he made her a cherry cola, but it had such an air of farewell to it that tears slid down one cheek. “I'll be your first ten dollars.” He held her at arm's length. “'Cause that's what one of your fancy coffee's gonna set me back, isn't it?”

“Nah,” she replied, hugging him and pressing her wet cheek to his. “Yours will always be free.” She nodded at the frame on the wall. “Except the first one, and that'll cost you a dollar. And an autograph.”

She watched him make his way to the front of the shop, unable to follow him. Instead, she opened the back door that led out into the alleyway, sat down on the loading dock and quietly cried.

* * *

Dylan pushed the back door of the coffee shop open to find Karla sitting on the loading dock with her back to him. “Karl said you were out here.”

She sniffed, straightened her shoulders and turned toward him with a weak wave. She'd been crying.

He moved to sit next to her. “What's wrong?”

She looked up with a deep breath, settling her shoulders. “I just told Grandpa I'm not taking over Karl's.”

“But you've never been taking over Karl's. I thought he knew that.”

“I think he knew that, too. I just finally had to come out and say it. That, and that I'm leaving on the sixteenth, if not before. It's been as if we've been in a little bubble pretending that isn't going to happen, and I just popped that bubble.”

“You had to tell him.”

She flapped her hand in the air as if to shoo away the fresh tears that appeared in her eyes. “I know that. I just didn't count on it being so hard. He looked so hurt.”

“He had to know, and the sooner the better. It will get better from here, I think. He'll come around.” He risked putting a hand on her shoulder. “We'll get him hopelessly busy with anniversary celebration tasks so he won't have time to pout.” She looked like a change of subject would do her good. “How did the picnic planning go?”

She took the lead he offered. “Great. Everyone will be invited to picnic on the riverfront before the boats go by. Dellio's diner is going to cater fried chicken and all the fixings for the guys in the department, and Jeannie Owens is organizing a cake competition that the firemen will get to judge, so dessert's covered, too.”

“Wow. You managed all that since Saturday?”

Karla managed a weak smile. “Chad took care of the picnic paperwork, Jeannie came up with the idea on her own and I sent Violet Sharpton down to Dellio's. No one says no to Vi.”

“Don't we all know that.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Dylan tried to think of more to say, but came up empty. “I can't go back out there,” she moaned. “Not yet.”

That gave him an idea. He hopped down off the loading dock. “No one's at the firehouse at the moment—why don't you come over for a few minutes to see something?”

“Um, sure.” She seemed glad of the diversion.

“I'll have to swear you to secrecy, but I need someone to know this wasn't my idea.”

They slipped out into the alleyway and across the street to the side door of the empty firehouse. He led her through a pair of hallways until they opened out to a shedlike structure in back of the firehouse. Sliding the bolt, Dylan opened the shed's double doors to reveal the workshop they'd used for the float construction. Four log cabin “walls” leaned against the side of the shed in various stages of construction. A set of plans and an artist's rendering done by Charlotte were tacked up on the wall.

She looked surprised. “This is the firehouse's float?”

“Yep. They're using my boat, but I didn't put them up to this.”

Karla peered at a second sketch, one that showed the same log cabin consumed in flames. “Wait...you're setting your float on fire?”

“Not really.” Dylan pointed to the mechanical detail on one of the drawings. “Jesse and Charlotte are rigging some kind of special effect with thin fabric and fans.”

She glanced back at him, smirking in the sunlight coming in through the shed windows. He was glad to see some of the light come back to her eyes. “That's crazy. You know that, don't you?”

“Well, I think it's a bit overdone, yeah. But they're having fun, and it's not as if my boat's in any danger.”

Karla peered back at the plans. “Are you sure about that?”

He laughed. “I trust Jesse. I wouldn't fight fires with him if I didn't. Or any of them. These guys always have my back. Always.”

“It's nice to know there are still people like that in the world.” She leaned against the wall, hugging her chest. “Why'd you start? With the firehouse, I mean?”

“I told you. I needed something bigger than me when I came here.” He picked up one of the paper tube things stacked up against the wall and thumped it on the ground. “I suppose I needed somewhere to belong, silly as that sounds.”

“I don't think that sounds silly at all.” She waved her hand around the room. “Honestly, I think you'll win. I don't know about all the floats, but I haven't heard of anything as elaborate as this.”

“That's just it—I don't want to win. The whole weekend's already about the firehouse, I don't think we should take over the parade as well when it's supposed to be a whole community thing.”

She stared at him. “Why shouldn't you want to win the prize? I'd think the firehouse would consider its honor at stake here and go all out to win. I don't need to know that this wasn't your idea because it wouldn't bother me if it was.”

“I'm not the grandstanding type. I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay, point taken,” she said. “You're going along with this for the good of the firehouse, but it wasn't your idea. Got it.”

“Good.” He turned toward the door.

“Dylan?”

“What?”

“Ambition isn't a bad thing, you know. Not if you hold it in balance.”

He didn't answer.