The Year of Chasing Dreams (36 page)

“Not you, just the idea of selling off Bellmeade. I couldn’t do it and you didn’t understand my reasons.”

“But why ask
me
of all people to build your house?”

She was ready for this question, had given it some thought. “This whole town needs rebuilding. Contractors will pour in, many of them less than honest. I … I’ve been checking you out and you have an excellent reputation. Just like you told me you had that day you came to visit after my accident.”

“You thought I was trying to hustle you, take advantage of you.”

She nodded. “Now I realize you were only attempting to defend your reputation by insisting you had no part of the
accident. You were doing an honorable thing. Not everyone acts honorably, Mr. Hastings.”

He blew out a lungful of air, shook his head. “I build communities, not houses.”

“And Windemere is a community in need of rebuilding. If you start with Bellmeade, it will be a stamp of approval for others to ask you.” She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping she was telling him the truth, for she had no idea if others would follow in her stead. “Here’s what I can promise you. I know everyone in these parts, and can get you together with excellent craftsmen—woodworkers, cabinet makers, construction workers—hard workers, all of them.”

“You mean when they’re not cutting hay?”

She winced with his dig, but offered a rueful smile. “Not all of us do farm labor. Some actually own stores and businesses. We’re teachers and homemakers and ranchers. In summer we play softball, and hold a rodeo at the fairgrounds that tourists from all over come to see. We love our sweet tea and biscuits, our families and our country. We are not Chicago. But we have good lives here in the sticks.”

Hastings looked contrite. “Miss Beauchamp, I have a deep financial hole to dig out of.”

“And I have the money for a shovel. Bellmeade was once the jewel of this part of Tennessee. I want it to be so once more.” He crossed his arms, studied her. She plunged ahead. “I want you to manage every phase, from drawing up the plans to painting the front porch, so you are at liberty to be creative. I want a different house from the one from the past. I’m thinking maybe something with clusters of units attached to the main house, so it can be multigenerational. So that families can grow up and grow old in the family home like they
once did in America, before roads and jobs scattered them to the four corners. Show me your best ideas. I will consider all of them.”

Her voice was thick with fervor, and she felt as if she was channeling her grandmother. Whatever fear she’d had about making her case to him had vanished, replaced by determination. She also knew she’d snagged his interest. “I only ask for quality. The former house stood for well over a hundred years. This one should stand for at least a hundred more.”

An amused smile played across his face. “You are an enigma, Miss Beauchamp. May I ask you an impertinent question?”

She nodded.

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-one this summer.”

His forehead furrowed, and he gave her an
I don’t believe I’m about to tell you this
look. “I’ll think about your offer.”

She smiled and every nerve and muscle in her body relaxed. “That would be fine. I have a crop to harvest and my wedding to plan. I can be patient.” The meeting was at an end. She thought about what Olivia or her father might do in the moment, then stepped forward and held out her hand. Hastings stared down at it, slowly straightened, held out his, and they shook firmly. “Thank you,” she said, and started toward the door.

“Not sure I’ll ever understand you Southern women,” he said.

At the doorway, she turned and, offering another smile, said, “Understanding is not nearly as important as acceptance of us.”

She went to her truck, got in, grabbed the steering wheel, and rested her forehead against the backs of her hands. She
took deep shuddering breaths and waited until her breathing and heartbeat were under control before driving away.

“We’re having a party this Saturday night.” Alice Faye’s announcement at the breakfast table the next morning startled everyone.

“A party?” Ciana exclaimed. “Why?”

“Because the new road to the stable’s in place, because the new chicken coop is full of new chickens, because Angela’s going back to Texas on Monday”—Angela nodded to confirm—“and because we’ve worked like dogs for weeks and it’s time to celebrate. I’ve invited Arie’s folks, Eric and Abbie, Cecil, Mr. Boatwright and his wife, and anyone else I can think of before Saturday.”

Garret’s eyes lit up. “We’re having a barbie?”

“And all the fixins’, plus pie, cake, and watermelon, and fresh-churned ice cream.”

“And beer?”

“And sweet tea too,” Alice Faye said.

“All right!”

Saturday midday, Jon and Garret dug a fire pit for roasting meat, while inside the trailer the air hung heavy with the smells of tangy sauces, baked beans, buttery pie crusts, and chocolate cake. Ciana and Eden set up borrowed tables on the lawn. They draped twinkly lights on everything standing upright and set groupings of candles on every flat surface. By nightfall, the lawn looked like a fairy land, guests were spread out on chairs and blankets under the lights and stars, and ribs and burgers were sputtering on a fire.

Garret hooked up his and Eden’s iPods to portable speakers. Abbie’s baby, Aaron, was set into a portable baby swing beside one table, and Soldier was assigned to keep watch so that Abbie and Eric could eat and mingle. And when the fireflies began coming out, the music went slow and soft with the sound from plaintive guitars. People clustered into groups to talk about the storm, to lament those lost, celebrate new beginnings, and share their stories.

In the light of the fire Ciana watched Jon relax, was grateful to her mother for suggesting the party. She took his hand, said, “Walk with me.” He had mastered walking in the cast by now, but she took her time, in no hurry to get where she wanted to go. She stopped inside the flattened ground where the house had once stood, and told him about her meeting with Hastings. “I want your input for the rebuild. What would you like in a new house?”

“You,” he said, kissing her. “Naked.”

Delighted, she laughed and draped her arms over his shoulders. This was the warm, sexy Jon she’d fallen in love with, before the storm had waylaid their plans. “So you still want to get married?”

“Not until this cast comes off.”

“When’s that?”

“I was going to surprise you. Garret and I are driving Mom to the airport, then heading to my doc’s office and his cast-removal saw.”

“So I should find us a preacher?”

“Hold off. Have to get the muscle strong again.” He pulled her closer. “Want to be a hundred percent when I take you to bed.”

She kissed him, remembering the nights they’d almost made love, when he’d made her blood run hot and set her
skin on fire. She whispered, “Dance with me, cowboy. Like the first time.”

He took her in his arms, nuzzled her neck. “You going to stay awake?”

“Wide awake.” He chuckled, and she laid her cheek in the crook of his neck. “You smell like charcoal and wood fire.”

“And you smell like heaven.”

They clung to each other, swaying and talking under the stars until the silence behind them told them that their guests had gone home. The sounds of cleanup did not move them apart either, and at some point the others drifted off to bed. Garret left the music playing, and nature let the stars burn more brightly than Ciana had ever seen them shine. Jon had returned to her.

Ciana woke to the sound of Jon whistling in the barn below. She’d overslept. Even Eden was up. She raked her fingers through her hair, reveling in the afterglow from the night before, of how she and Jon had kissed and touched, and longed for a place where they might have lain down together, thigh-high cast and all. She stretched lazily, finally rose, and dressed. She came down the ladder, only to be captured by Jon’s arms from behind.

“Breakfast bell rang thirty minutes ago.”

“I have connections with the cook. She’ll feed me,” Ciana said with a laugh, and, turning, kissed Jon languidly.

“Go, before I jump your body.”

She blew him a kiss and ducked away. “I must ask your mother how she raised such a sex-crazed guy before she goes!”

“Me!” he yelped. “You’re the one who kept me up half the night.”

“Get used to it!” She darted out the door.

In the trailer, while Angela was in the bedroom packing, Ciana wolfed down leftover biscuits and gravy. “Happy, are we?” Alice Faye asked, plopping another biscuit on Ciana’s plate.

“Very happy. Get the calendar. I’m looking for a wedding date.”

Just then Angela emerged from the bedroom. “Did I hear the word ‘wedding’?”

“It was mentioned,” Alice Faye said.

Angela was all smiles. “Come on, soon to be daughter-in-law. Take a stroll with me. I need to stretch my legs before I sit on an airplane for hours.”

Outside, Angela tucked her arm through Ciana’s, and Soldier fell in beside them. “I know you’ve been concerned about Jon’s moodiness.”

“I think we got over that hurdle last night. He was his old self again.”

“That’s because we found Isabella’s ring.”

“I thought it was lost.”

“He
thought
he’d lost it and it was breaking his heart. At first he thought he’d left it in the bedroom at the house. Then he recalled putting it someplace else but couldn’t remember where. That short-term memory business really had him torn up.”

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Ciana. That was why he’d seemed so distant once back from the hospital. He’d been searching his damaged memory for the ring. “Good grief! I love the ring, it’s beautiful, but it’s Jon I want.”

Angela patted Ciana’s shoulder. “That’s what I told him. I said, ‘Son, that girl will marry you if you put a cigar band on her finger.’ ” Ciana laughed, and Angela leaned closer. “But good news. We found it in some old trunk up in the loft.”

Ciana stopped. Olivia’s trunk. The quilts, diaries, and memorabilia. She’d all but forgotten the trunk since before the storm.

Angela said, “I guess he tucked it in there for safekeeping, but the concussion erased the memory. He was so happy when we dug it out.”

Mystery solved. “Me too. I’m sorry that you’ll have to come all the way back for the wedding, but Jon refuses to limp down the aisle.” The warm sunlight sharpened the edges of shadows cast by the barn.

“Don’t care.”

“Well, this way you can give me a guest list. Jon was no help. And I need your advice on inviting his father. Jon … He didn’t sound in favor of it. But it doesn’t seem right to me not to ask him.”

Angela sighed. “I understand. The stroke has not dealt kindly with Wade Soder. He’s a bitter man.”

Time slowed then ground to a halt. And Ciana’s world turned upside down.