A Fresh Start

Lily Farnsworth can thank a mysterious benefactor for the chance to open her own flower shop in Bygones, Kansas. But Tate Bronson is the biggest challenge the relocated Boston attorney has ever faced. Forget about tossing out the welcome mat—the handsome widowed rancher seems determined to keep Lily at arm’s length. As everyone buzzes over the identity of the anonymous donor, Lily’s doing her part to revitalize the struggling town. With the help of Tate’s little girl-turned-matchmaker, can she create a garden of community and love deep in the heart of Kansas…and one special man?

The Heart of Main Street: They’re rebuilding the town one step—and heart—at a time

Tate paused, turned, walked back up the stairs and wagged a finger in Lily’s face.

He’d intended to say something clever, something witty and smart, but when he saw her standing there with that relaxed, happy smile on her face and those deep blue eyes shining behind the lenses of those cute round glasses, every word, every thought went right out of his head except one. He swept his arm around her, folding her close with the crook of his arm. Sliding his free hand over her shoulder blade, he tilted his head and kissed her. This was no accidental kiss.

This was about the woman who made him smile.

ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

After thirty-three years in Texas, Arlene James now resides in Bella Vista, Arkansas, with her beloved husband. Even after seventy-five novels, her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached via her website, www.arlenejames.com.

Love in Bloom

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

—Jeremiah 29:11

I dedicate this book to my hometown of Comanche, Oklahoma, where good people still do good things for one another every day and faith is still a way of life.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Arlene James for her contribution to

The Heart of Main Street continuity.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Placing a folder on her desk, Coraline Connolly looked around at the faces of those she had summoned to her office. Tate Bronson shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling much like the boy he had once been, waiting for the ax to fall here in the office of the principal of the school. This time, however, he did not fear that he had been caught pulling pranks on his classmates or carving his and Eve’s initials into the memorial tree at the corner of Bronson Avenue and School Drive. This time his concerns were not anything as sweetly trivial as losing his privileges at recess or writing extra essays. All here knew that the town they loved teetered on the very edge of disaster.

The problems had begun the moment that Randall Manufacturing had closed its doors, throwing seventy percent of the community’s employees out of work. Overnight, Bygones had gone from being one of the most successful small towns in Kansas to a community in decline.

Oh, the townsfolk were still friendly and salt-of-the-earth, willing to give the shirts off their backs to friends and neighbors in need. The original Bronson Homestead, now home to the public library, a spacious park with a sizable playground, charming gazebo and shady pond, still welcomed visitors with its sylvan peace. The lazy streets where children played and houses stood in safety with doors unlocked were still realities of the friendly ambience of the small town. Sadly, however, what they had once taken for granted in Bygones was no longer secure.

In the months since the closing of Randall Manufacturing, other businesses had shuttered. Homes had been abandoned and repossessed as people moved out in search of work. Mayor Langston had even been forced to shut down the butcher department in his grocery store. With revenues dropping like a lead weight in a pail of water, the city had been forced to lay off personnel and scale back services. When the bank branch had closed, the whole town had known that it was in real trouble. Tate couldn’t help wondering if Robert Randall truly realized what he’d done to this community when he’d shuttered his aerospace manufacturing plant.

Miss Coraline, who at sixty had been a fixture at the school for over thirty years, had been deeply disappointed because the annual alumni banquet had been called off due to a lack of funds. Canceling the alumni banquet was the least of the problems for the school, however. Tate very much feared that Coraline had gathered this diverse group today—arguably now Bygones’ most influential citizens—to announce that the school would close entirely, with the county absorbing its students.

As if reading his thoughts, Coraline stood behind her desk and pulled herself up to her full height, which must have been all of an inch over five feet, and said, “You must be wondering why I’ve called you all here.”

Mayor Langston, seated next to old Miss Mars, stacked his hands atop the curved head of his cane and replied, “I hope for good news, but I confess that I expect the opposite.”

“We’ve had nothing but bad news for months now,” Joe Sheridan, the chief of police and an ex-marine, pointed out with a sigh.

“We mustn’t lose hope,” Dale Eversleigh, the colorful, rotund, fortyish town undertaker counseled.

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Elwood Dill, proprietor of The Everything, the town’s most successful retail business. “Your services never go out of demand. I have people buying gasoline one gallon at a time now and eating candy bars for dinner.”

Miss Ann Mars tilted back her snowy head and smiled at the fifty-something, long-haired, tattooed, self-proclaimed “flower child.”

“You’re giving away as many gallons of gasoline and hamburgers as you sell, Elwood, and don’t you deny it.”

Elwood shrugged, and Tate smiled to himself. Elwood and his wife might be a bit unconventional, but like almost everyone else around Bygones, they were good people. The question was if the town founded by Tate’s great-great-grandfather, Paul Bronson, and his brother, Saul, would still be around for these good people or if it would become another of the many ghost towns littering the Kansas plains. Tate looked to Coraline Connolly, who had always been a voice of steady reason in the community.

“Don’t keep us in suspense, ma’am. Why are we here?”

“Answered prayer, Tate,” she announced, smiling as she held up a large empty envelope stamped as Certified Mail. “I do believe it’s answered prayer.” She flipped open the folder on her desk and spread out its contents. “I received this two days ago, and it’s taken me a while to fully understand all of the ramifications. I want you all to know that I consulted an attorney about this before I called you here.”

The mayor picked up one of the papers and began to read, while Miss Mars did the same with another. Miss Mars reported first.

“A holding company is purchasing the entire south side of Main Street!”

“All those empty stores that are now in receivership?” Eversleigh queried, obviously perplexed.

“And updating them!” Miss Mars went on, continuing to read.

“Whatever for?” Joe Sheridan asked.

“New businesses,” Mayor Langston answered, a note of awe in his tone. “In the very heart of Main Street.”

“What new businesses?” Elwood Dill scoffed.

“The new businesses we choose to bring in,” Coraline said, pressing her hands flat upon the desk, “with the grants funded by an anonymous benefactor.”

“I don’t believe this,” Dale Eversleigh exclaimed, all but snatching the paper from Mayor Langston’s hands.

Langston fell back in his chair. “If we can save Main Street, we can save the town.”

“Are you actually saying,” Joe demanded, seeking clarification, “that this is what we’ve been praying for?”

They had been praying, Tate knew. They’d held many a prayer meeting at the Bygones Community Church these past months. Tate had attended none of them, but he knew well what had been said. He knew, too, that God often failed to hear or answer prayer.

“Hold on, now,” he said, determined to be the voice of reason. “Who is this benefactor?”

Coraline shook her head. “I don’t know. Whoever it is insists on anonymity.”

“But why do this for Bygones?”

“I can’t answer that, either, but it must be someone with a connection to the town. We can’t be the only ones who love this place. I keep thinking that it must be a former student. Otherwise why send all this to me? All I know for sure, though, is what’s in these papers.”

Tate thought about that. The school was small. This two-story redbrick building housed all twelve grades and kindergarten, but hundreds of students had passed through its hallowed halls in the time Miss Coraline had been here. Most had now moved on.

“How do we know it’s legitimate?”

“An account has been set up,” Eversleigh reported, looking up from the papers, “and there’s an email address for consultation. All we have to do is put together a committee, set parameters for the grants, take applications, make our choices and apprise our benefactor of them. The monies will then be released to the recipients.”

“The holding company will take care of preparing the shops to accommodate the needs of the businesses that we choose,” Miss Mars reported.

“What have we got to lose?” Chief Sheridan asked excitedly.

“Exactly my opinion,” the mayor agreed, sitting up straight, “and it seems to me that the first order of business is to form that committee. Coraline, since this comes to us through you, I’d say that chore falls in your lap.”

“Which is why I’ve asked you all here,” she told them. “I’ve given this a lot of thought and a lot of prayer, and as far as I’m concerned, you are the committee. If you’re all willing, that is.”

They looked at one another, nodding.

“I think you mean, we are the committee, don’t you?” Tate said to Coraline. She smiled, a look of hope on her face.

“The Save Our Streets Committee,” Elwood quipped with a grin. “SOS for short. Sounds appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Sounds hopeful to me,” Miss Mars all but sang.

“It’s about time something did,” Joe Sheridan said, gulping audibly.

“So long as it works,” Dale Eversleigh intoned.

“Please, God,” Coraline breathed.

“Speaking of work,” Mayor Langston said, reaching for a pen from the utensil cup on Coraline’s desk, “I have some ideas about those grant parameters...”

Tate hung back as the others bent over the principal’s desk, eagerly following the mayor’s line of thought as he sketched it out with notes. Though he was by far the youngest member of this ad hoc committee, his thoughts had gone back in time.

No one could have asked for a better place to grow up than Bygones, Kansas. No one could ask for a better place to raise their daughter. No one grieved the calamities that had befallen their hometown or feared its demise more than Tate. But anonymous benefactors and mysterious holding companies were almost as difficult for Tate to accept as a God who heard and answered the desperate prayers of His children. For no one knew better than Tate how little God truly cared.

Still, as an heir of the founding family—which was no doubt why Miss Coraline had chosen him for the SOS Committee—Tate would do all that he could to save the town. Never mind that he didn’t live within its city limits. A ranching and farming family, the Bronsons lived on a large acreage outside of town, but their forebears had platted the city’s streets, established its institutions, sent their children to its school, shopped in its stores, called its citizens their friends and neighbors—and buried their dead in its cemetery. This was his town, and like everyone else around here, he’d lost enough already. So, he made up his mind.

Anonymous benefactor or no anonymous benefactor, Bygones, Kansas, wasn’t going down without a fight. That meant Tate Bronson would do everything in his power to make this crazy scheme work. The others could pray all they wanted, but Tate would keep a clear head and make wise choices. They’d bring new blood and new businesses to town, and with them would come hope and, maybe, just maybe, new life.

Chapter One

The pavement outside the Kansas City Airport radiated heat even though the sun had already sunk below the horizon. Tate held his nearly eight-year-old daughter’s hand a little tighter and resisted the urge to shake out his long legs and hurry along as they crossed the traffic lane to the sidewalk. He pushed back the brim of his straw cowboy hat and squinted against the dying sunshine to read the signs hanging overhead.

“That’s it down there,” he said, pointing. “Baggage Claim A.”

They hurried in that direction, Isabella skipping ahead. The hem was coming down on the back side of her favorite purple T-shirt. He’d have to ask his mom to buy her a new one to match the embroidery on her favorite pair of jeans. Meanwhile Ms. Lily Farnsworth would just have to excuse his daughter’s attire, as well as his lateness. And the heat.

Lifting his hat, he mopped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. The first day of July had dawned hot and clear. He hoped that Ms. Farnsworth, being from Boston, was prepared for what she would find here in Kansas.

Lily Farnsworth was the last of six new business owners to arrive, each selected by the Save Our Streets Committee, dubbed the SOS, of the town of Bygones. As a member of the committee, Tate had been asked to meet her at the airport in Kansas City, transport her to Bygones and act as her official host and contact. With the Grand Opening just a week away, most of the shop owners had been at work preparing their stores for some time already, but Ms. Farnsworth had delayed until after her sister’s wedding, assuring the committee that a florist’s shop required less preparation than some retail businesses. Tate hoped she was right.

He still wasn’t convinced that this scheme, financed by a mysterious, anonymous donor, would work. But if something didn’t revive the financial fortunes of Bygones—and soon—their small town would become just another ghost town on the north central plains. Tate thought of the school where he had met his late wife and of the cemetery where he had buried her nearly eight years ago, and he ached to think of those places abandoned and forgotten, so he would do what he could to revive the community.

Isabella stopped before the automatic doors and waited for him to catch up. He did so quickly, and they entered the cool building together. A pair of gleaming luggage carousels occupied the open space, both vacant. A few people milled about. Some wore uniforms of one sort or another; most just seemed to be waiting. One, a tall, slender, pretty woman with long blond hair and round tortoiseshell glasses, perched atop a veritable mountain of luggage. She wore black ballet slippers and white knit leggings beneath a gossamery blue dress with fluttery sleeves and hems. Her very long hair parted in the middle and waved about her face and shoulders. As he watched, she gathered that pale gold hair in slim-fingered hands with tiny knuckles, twisted it into a long rope and pulled it over one shoulder. Her gaze touched his then skittered away. He felt the insane urge to look closer, behind the lenses of those glasses that gave her a calm, intelligent air, but of course, he would not.

For one thing, Tate Bronson did not interest himself in attractive women. For another, that could not be Lily Farnsworth. Lily Farnsworth was a florist from Boston, not a blonde—he glanced back at the woman seated on the baggage—with the air of a ballet dancer and librarian combined. He turned away, the better to resist the urge to stare, and scanned the building for anyone who might be his florist. Maybe he should have made a sign; but then, he wasn’t a limo driver. He was a rancher and farmer trying to help keep his town from dying a slow, certain death. He’d have felt like an idiot standing there with a hand-lettered sign.

One by one the possibilities faded away, greeted by others or disappearing on their own. Finally Isabella gave him that look that said Dad, you’re being a goof again. She slipped her little hand into his, and he sighed inwardly. Of course the pretty blonde was not a ballet dancer or librarian at all. And she’d packed up half of Boston to bring with her. Even with the long-bed pickup truck out there in the parking lot, a good number of those suitcases and boxes would have to go into the backseat with Isabella. So, an idiot with or without the sign. Great. Turning, he walked the few yards to the luggage mountain and swept off his straw cowboy hat.

“Are you Lily Farnsworth by any chance?”

A slender forefinger with a blunt tip and a knuckle so delicate it seemed made of paste came up to push those round glasses more firmly onto a nose as straight and fine as a blade. She nodded just once and rose, brushing at her filmy skirt, a clear blue like the darkly fringed eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. Her ivory-pink skin, completely devoid of cosmetics, showed a sprinkling of freckles across cheeks that bunched into pale apples when she smiled—and what a smile it was. She had perfect lips, wide and mobile, not too thin and not too thick, a luscious natural dusty pink against blindingly white, even teeth. A square-tipped chin on an oval face completed the picture.

“I’m Lily,” she said in a voice as gossamery as her skirts. “You must be Tate Bronson. What a pleasure it is to meet you. I was expecting a grizzled old rancher, not a handsome, young...well...”

She bowed her head, her blond hair flowing forward to hide her reddening face. Tate frowned, not at all liking the way his heart sped up. Yep, no sign needed. He was perfectly capable of behaving like an idiot without any props.

* * *

Looking down at her comfortable flat slippers, Lily willed away the color swamping her face. Honestly, she’d gotten over this awkwardness long ago. Hadn’t she? If only she hadn’t been staring at him all this time, she’d have had more control of her tongue. That and fatigue had gotten the better of her. To get the best price, she’d flown from Boston to Atlanta to Kansas City, which had made for a long day. Suddenly she wished she’d taken more pains with her appearance, but why bother when she was so tall and thin and wore glasses? Men generally failed to notice her at all, and when they did, they treated her like their sisters or their maiden aunts. This one would barely even look at her. No doubt his wife was the next thing to a fashion model. A man as attractive as him would naturally marry a woman like that.

Tall and muscular, with thick, dark brown hair worn so short that the circular cowlicks at his crown and the center of his forehead were clearly visible, he had smooth features and warm brown eyes in a squarish face marked by dimples even when he wasn’t smiling. Given the thickness of his hair, his brows seemed surprisingly slender, and if he had a fault then it was the thinness of his lips. Or was that simply his frown? The little redheaded imp with him seemed undeterred by his scowl. She skipped forward and put out a chubby hand.

“Hi! I’m Isabella. I’m seven, almost eight. How old are you?”

“Isabella,” Tate Bronson scolded. “You don’t ask a lady her age.”

“Why not? I’m a lady, and I told her mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Bronson apologized, his frown softening. He really was quite attractive, especially when he wasn’t frowning. “My daughter is looking forward to her birthday later this month, but that’s no excuse for her being rude.”

“That’s all right,” Lily said with a smile. Switching her gaze to the girl, Lily bent forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isabella.” Dropping her voice to a stage whisper, she confessed, “I turned twenty-seven on May Day.”

Isabella cut her blue-eyed glance up at her father, drawling, “Twenty-seven’s good. Daddy’s twenty-seven. His birthday’s in September. Then he’ll be twenty-eight.”

Lily felt a jolt of surprise. Twenty-eight with an eight-year-old. That made him a very young father.

Tate made an impatient sound and said, “Can we get going, please? We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Oh, of course,” Lily said apologetically, gathering her voluminous handbag and backpack. She slung one over each shoulder, stacked two of the smaller boxes atop one of the larger wheeled bags and prepared to haul out the lot.

“Wait,” Tate said. “Let’s do this with some organization.”

Feeling chastised, Lily ducked her head, her long hair sliding forward. “Okay. Uh, what would you suggest?”

He pulled up the handle on one of the smaller wheeled bags and handed it to Isabella, then tossed a box onto his shoulder and snagged the handle of the larger bag from Lily, saying, “Wait here with the rest. We’ll take out these and be back.”

Lily bit back a protest. Those were vases and other glass items balanced on his shoulder, going-away gifts from her friends in Boston, things to help her get started in Bygones. Her former employer and coworkers knew how carefully she had budgeted to make this plan feasible, even selling her beloved car to raise the necessary funds to match the grant and choosing a shop with living quarters above it to cut expenses. She had packed those particular items carefully for shipping and sent them ahead of her to be collected when she arrived at the airport; she supposed they would survive Tate Bronson, so she bit her lip and watched him walk away without saying a word. His daughter followed him, her long red curls bouncing merrily. Lily noticed idly that the hem of the child’s purple T-shirt had come down, but her mind was too preoccupied with her new venture to assign any significance to that fact.

While helping her sister pick out flowers for her upcoming wedding, the florist, a former employer of Lily’s, had surreptitiously handed her a newspaper article about a place in Kansas taking applications for matching grants for businesses willing to locate in the small town of Bygones. The applicants had to submit a business plan, deposit funds equal to the amount of the requested grant, agree to hire locals and complete a minimum two-year residency. Failure to maintain the required residency and keep the business in operation would constitute a default, in which case, the grant would have to be repaid within five years. Knowing that Lily hated what she was currently doing for a living and much preferred the work that she’d done while attending college and graduate school—namely, floral design—this friend and former employer had encouraged Lily to apply for one of the grants.

Lily had considered it answered prayer when she had been chosen as one of the grant recipients, but she hadn’t told her family of her plans until the last moment. They had not taken it well. She couldn’t blame them.

It was one thing to find a nail in one’s soup; it was another when that nail swam to the top of the bowl and climbed out. Lily was now the only florist in a family of lawyers. Oh, she had the degree and the law license, but she was not, strictly speaking, a lawyer, at least not anymore. Now she was a florist, which meant that it was do-or-die for her here in Kansas.

Everything depended on making this work. Lily had staked everything on this scheme. Should she fail in Bygones, she would be buried in debt, and returning to her former occupation would be her only alternative, even if she wasn’t very good at it. Worse, it would mean returning home to the bosom of her family, and that she did not want under any circumstances but especially not in defeat. If she was to be the maiden aunt to her sister’s children, she would be so at a distance with a successful business to occupy her time and mind. She would not hang around Boston, pretending she wasn’t miserable and envious, while her sister and new brother-in-law started their family, something they were eager to do.

No, it was bad enough that her sister had married the man whom Lily had wanted for herself. Lily didn’t have to stick around and watch them have babies, not when she so wanted babies, too. If she couldn’t have a family of her own, Lily would do whatever it took to build a successful business in Bygones. That included, she reminded herself as Tate Bronson and his adorable daughter moved toward her once more, those things that went against her nature, such as speaking up. So, as he bent to take up another of her boxes, she found her voice.

“Uh, if you...if you could be careful.”

He gave her such a look, as if she were an inanimate object suddenly come to life, but he took great care stacking the boxes and hoisting them onto his shoulders. He then turned and walked away without a word. Isabella took up her backpack, chattering.

“I’ll have to sit in the corner, but it’s okay. I don’t mind. Daddy shoulda left the bags of feed at home. He didn’t figure you’d have so much stuff.”

“I see,” Lily muttered. She quickly took the backpack from Isabella and shouldered it once more, then pulled up the handle on one of the medium bags. “Think you can handle that?”

“Uh-huh.”

Using both hands, Isabella began pulling the bag toward the door. Lily stacked the remaining two boxes atop the remaining suitcase and, also using both hands, began backing toward the door. They made the sidewalk before Tate returned to scoop up boxes and bags.

“Come on.”

Lily tried to explain herself as they crossed the street and trailed across the parking lot. “I, um, looked into standard shipping, but it was cheaper to check some things as luggage and send the rest as air freight, and this way I have it all on hand when I arrive. I—I’m sorry I didn’t think to warn anyone that I would have extra luggage.”

He shrugged. “Part of my responsibilities.”

“Do you mind if I ask what your responsibilities are, I mean, so far as I’m concerned?”

“Get you there. Make sure you get set up in time for the Grand Opening.”

“Very good. I appreciate that.”

He seemed to thaw a bit then. “I’m your official contact with the committee and your host, at least through the Grand Opening reception.”

“Oh. All right. That’s nice. Thank you.”

“No problem. When you’re ready to hire help, I’ll have a list of names for you, too.”

“Ah. That will be useful.”

“When do you think you’ll be ready to hire someone, by the way?”

“Um, soon after the Grand Opening, I should think.”

“I see.”

“That is, if it’s successful.”

“The town’s done its part,” he told her.

“That’s good to know. What can you tell me about the town? I mean, beyond the statistics.”

He seemed to consider for a moment before saying, “Nothing much to tell.” Lily’s spirits sagged. She was tired and uncertain and hoping for a warm welcome, not this terse, tepid greeting. “You’ll see soon enough,” he added, stopping next to a dirty white double-cab pickup truck. He placed one of the boxes in the bed of the truck. Lily took a deep breath.

“Um, do you...do you think we could put those boxes inside?”

He turned a surprised look on her. “You want those particular boxes inside, not the suitcases?”

“What’s in the boxes is more valuable,” she said, pushing up her glasses.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it.”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied softly.

He reached into his pocket and an electronic beep sounded. He opened the back door of the cab and wrestled the big suitcase to the ground then transferred boxes to the inside. It took some shifting around, but they finally got everything loaded. As soon as they were all belted into their seats, Tate behind the wheel, Lily on the front passenger side and Isabella in a booster seat behind Lily in the back, Isabella spoke up.

“Daddy got on the SOS ’cause we’re Bronsons.”

“SOS?”

“It’s short for Save Our Streets,” he explained, starting the engine. “That’s the name of the committee that chose the businesses that got the grants.”

“Yes, I remember reading that in the paperwork, but what does being Bronsons have to do with it?”

“Bronsons founded the town,” he answered brusquely.

“They were brothers,” Isabella volunteered, “and one of ’em runned off with the other one’s sweetheart, so they hated each other.”

“Oh, dear,” Lily murmured.

“They got over it,” Tate stated matter-of-factly, and that was that.

Lily sighed mentally. She’d imagined a sweet little town, pulling together to do something grand, not feuding founders and “nothing much to tell.”

Suddenly Isabella piped up from the backseat again. “Are you married?”

“What? Uh. No.”

“Daddy’s not married, either.”

So, no fashion model wife then. That explained the falling-down hem on Isabella’s T-shirt. No conscientious mother would let such a pretty little girl go out with the hem coming down on her T-shirt, or so Lily imagined. A single father, now, he probably wouldn’t even notice such a thing. While Lily wondered about Isabella’s mother, Isabella wondered about other things, and she wasn’t the least bit shy in letting Lily know.

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

“Isabella!” Tate barked.

Lily cringed. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, either.”

“How come?”

“Well, I—I just...” Lily felt her face heat.

“Don’t you want to get married and have children?”

My, what a direct child. “Y-yes. Very much.”

“Do you like babies? I like babies.”

“I love babies.”

“My friend Bonnie has a baby sister. I want a baby sister.”

Lily shot a glance at Tate Bronson, who was not married. Perhaps he and Isabella’s mother were divorced, and his ex-wife had remarried, and Isabella was hoping for a baby sister from that quarter. If so, that might explain the granitelike tightness of Tate’s profile just then.

“Isabella, that’s enough!” Tate ordered. “You pipe down now.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“I mean it. Not another word.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lily sank down in her seat, feeling the undercurrents swirl around her. She didn’t know Tate Bronson’s story, but she knew her own.

Didn’t she want to get married and have children? Oh, yes. Very much. But that wasn’t likely when she didn’t even have a boyfriend, when she hadn’t ever had a boyfriend. And why was that? Wasn’t it obvious? Painfully obvious, she imagined, at least to Tate. Maybe not to his precocious daughter.

She just wasn’t the sort men noticed or in which they developed interest. She’d had ample proof of that already. She didn’t need any more, not from Tate Bronson or anyone else.

Lily turned her unseeing gaze out the quickly darkening window and prayed that she hadn’t made a horrible mistake in coming to Kansas.

Chapter Two

Her first sight of Bygones was not encouraging. Once they had gotten beyond the confines of the city, the landscape had seemed pleasantly green with rolling hills and lots of trees. About an hour out, however, that had gradually given way to flat golden plains and mere lines of trees following creeks and streams. By the time they reached the outskirts of Bygones, everything seemed dusty and barren in the moonlight. Lily pointed at a tall, ghostly shape rising sharply out of the dark.

“What is that?”

“Grain elevator,” came the terse reply.

They passed a scattering of low buildings next to the tall ones, and a little farther down the road they came to a block of small clapboard houses surrounded by too many vehicles and too little fencing. A few trees spread stunted branches and dark shadows. A dog ran to the edge of the road and barked madly as they passed. Tate paid it no mind, the truck speeding on. It slowed a few moments later as more substantial homes and buildings came into view. They passed the back of a small post office and a drive-through drop-off box. A few seconds later the truck turned right onto Main Street.

Lily caught her breath. This was more like it. Old-fashioned wrought-iron lampposts, topped now with pairs of American flags; illuminated matching benches placed strategically along the wide sidewalk. Ornamental evergreens in enormous terra-cotta pots complemented the brick pavement of the wide street and sprouted tiny flags amongst their needles. The buildings on both sides of the street had been painted a creamy yellow-tan and fronted with colorful awnings, now draped with patriotic bunting. The woodwork around the recessed doors and the large display windows had been painted to complement the awning colors. The buildings were old, perhaps from the 1930s, but looked to be in excellent condition.

On the south side of the street, every shop window bore a banner that read, “Welcome!”

Below that another sign read, “Happy Independence Day!”

Lily’s gaze sought out the spring-green awning with the heart-shaped scarlet lily gracefully arcing across it. The words below it in flowing script read, “Love in Bloom.” A scarlet heart dotted the i. Lily laughed in delight. It looked exactly as she had designed it, exactly as she had submitted it.

Tate glanced at her, asking, “So far so good?”

“It’s exactly what I hoped it would look like.”

He nodded. “Everyone says the contractors and consultants have done excellent work.”

Tate traveled on past the shop to the four-way stop at the intersection of Main and Bronson. Since hers was the second shop from the corner, it wasn’t far. He didn’t bother to actually stop, simply slowed and hooked a U-turn in the wide intersection.

“Is that legal?”

He shrugged. “It’s late. No other traffic. I wouldn’t try it in the daytime, though.”

“Since I don’t have a vehicle, I don’t expect it’ll be a problem.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t help wondering how you figure on getting around out here without your own transportation.”

“Oh, I’m going to live in the apartment above the shop.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“I’m told there’s a grocery up the street.”

“Sure. It’ll do if you’re not too picky.”

“And there’s a doctor a couple blocks over.”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays only.”

He pulled the truck over to the curb in front of the shop and killed the engine but made no move to get out.

“What about restaurants?” Lily asked.

“Uh, well, there’s the grill at The Everything for lunch and dinner. That’s like half a block behind you, but the menu’s pretty limited.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m not quite sure what you can get at the Cozy Cup Café after it opens, not much more than some fancy coffee and snacks, if I remember the prospectus correctly.” He glanced at the shop on the corner next door, adding, “The bakery will open soon, too. That ought to get you breakfast and some yummy desserts. That’s about it, though.”

“Okay. Well, I probably ought to be eating in more often anyway.”

“That’s what we do.”

She thought for a moment of all the lovely dinners out that she’d enjoyed in Boston, of the oyster bars and bistros, the pizzerias and one-of-a-kind “fusion” restaurants, the Back Bay seafood and Beacon Hill steaks. She thought of friends and family left behind, and her spirits wavered, but then she thought of new friends to be made and a business of her own, a new life in a new place. Her chin rose in determination.

A sound came from the backseat of the truck, the kind a sleeping child makes when perfectly at ease and content. Little Isabella Bronson of the flaming red hair and bright blue eyes slept peacefully behind them in her father’s pickup truck, apparently as content as if she were at home in her own bed. Smiling, Lily looked up at that awning and the front of the shop. Her gaze rose to the darkened windows above the awning. Her apartment. Her own shop and home. It was a far cry from Boston, but it was hers, her chance to do something real, something besides practice law and be miserable. This was her chance to break the mold, to prove herself, to be someone she liked and admired, not just a failed Farnsworth clone, yearning for what could not be.

Dorothy, she thought flippantly, we are in Kansas!

And maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe, for once, she’d done the right thing.

Oh, Lord, she silently prayed for the thousandth time since she’d read that article and filled out the application, please help me do the right things. For once in my life, please help me get it right.

* * *

Glancing into the backseat, Tate saw that Isabella still slept soundly. She’d dropped off soon after they’d left the environs of Kansas City, which was no surprise considering that the hour had been well past her normal bedtime. He should have left her with his parents instead of dragging her along on this trip, but that would have meant allowing her to sleep over, and he hated when she did that. Even after all these years he couldn’t get used to sleeping out at his place alone. When he’d first brought her home from the hospital, a new father and a widower, he’d wondered if he’d ever sleep again. But they’d found their way together, and now he couldn’t seem to manage without her even for a single night. His mother said that he sometimes held on to Isabella too tightly, but he didn’t know how else to hold her.

Lily Farnsworth got out of the truck and all but skipped across the sidewalk to the door of her shop and back again, her excitement palpable. Tate took the keys from the pocket of his jeans and tossed them to her. Catching them easily, she graced him with a smile before spinning away again. He watched her fit the key into the lock and turn it. The door swung wide. Lily reached inside and flipped on the lights; then she glided over the threshold into the bare space filled only with two small glass-fronted humidifiers to display the flowers, several large flat boxes, a small unpainted waist-high counter and a steel worktable half-hidden behind a wall at the back of the room.

She poked around for a bit while Tate unloaded suitcases from the bed of the truck and hauled them onto the sidewalk. Emerging from the building a few minutes later, she pronounced the place, “Perfect.”

“Looks like it needs some work to me,” Tate teased, unable to resist her enthusiasm.

Her smile instantly dissolved. “What I mean is, it’s perfect for my purposes.”

He felt like a heel. Irritated with himself, he waved a hand at the door beside the shop, the one between her business and the bookstore next door.

“If you’ll open that door, I’ll carry these up to your apartment.”

“Oh, most of those don’t go to the apartment,” she said, pointing into the shop. “They go in here.”

Tate reached up to push back the brim of his hat, realized he’d left it in the truck and parked his hands at his waist. “What about the boxes?”

“Most of those go into the shop, too.”

“Didn’t you bring anything to set up housekeeping?”

“A few things. It’s mostly shop supplies, though. You know, vases, foam, tubes, frogs, wires, tape, cones, hooks, hangers, ribbon, pins, charms, feathers, silk flowers...”

“Frogs?”

“Uh, to hold pins. They’re not real frogs.” She seemed embarrassed. “They don’t even look like real frogs.” She shrugged and bowed her head. “That’s just what we call them.”

Tate swallowed a chuckle and shifted his weight from one booted foot to another, finding her shyness kind of cute. “I figured you’d order supplies.”

“Well, yes, I have ordered some things, but why order what I already have? Especially when I didn’t have to pay for these things. They were gifts from my former employer and coworkers at the flower shop in Boston. Going-away gifts. ‘Success gifts,’ they called them.”

The lady knew how to pinch a penny. “Okay, I get it now. So which of these suitcases goes upstairs?”

“Just the big one.”

“All right. Let’s get these others inside, then I’ll take that one upstairs.”

They rolled the other suitcases into the shop. Lily positioned them behind the work area wall while Tate went out to remove the boxes from the backseat of the truck. Isabella woke as he worked, rubbed her eyes with both fists and pronounced herself in need of a potty.

“Go inside there,” Tate instructed. “There’s a bathroom in back.” He heard her asking Lily, and the two of them went off to find “the ladies’ room,” as Lily called it. Tate knew that it was a modest little necessary tucked into a corner.

“That’s going to need some attention,” Lily muttered upon their return.

By that he assumed she meant decoration, which was her department. He nodded to the boxes. “Any of these go upstairs?”

She pointed out only two of the smaller ones.

“All right. Then if you’ll each tote one, I’ll take the big suitcase, and we’ll go up.”

Nodding, Lily took the larger of the two boxes and stood by the door while Isabella easily carried her box and her father followed. Lily glanced around once more, shut off the lights and stepped outside to close the door and lock up before moving to the door that led to the apartment upstairs. Lily began searching for the appropriate key.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that door’s not locked,” Tate told her.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the workmen were coming and going, and no one could say exactly when the bed you ordered would be delivered. It was just easier to leave it open.”

Her jaw dropped. “Even after the bed came?”

“Sure. I didn’t see the point in...” She found the light switch and flipped it on, illuminating the narrow, enclosed staircase. “Why lock the door on an empty apartment?” he asked as she slipped inside and started climbing the stairs. Tate stepped up and blocked the door open with his shoulder, calling after her, “No one locks their doors around here, not to their houses.” She ignored him and kept climbing.

Tate indicated with a nod that Isabella should go next. Shrugging, she started up after Lily, who quickly reached the small landing at the top and let herself into the apartment. A light came on in the small foyer. Isabella followed. Tate came last into the dark but spacious living and dining area.

“What is this place?” Isabella asked.

“This is my home,” Lily told her, coming out of the dark hallway behind her. Lily quickly moved into the small kitchen and switched on a light there. “Not many overhead lights in here. I’ll need to buy some lamps.”

“You’re going to live in town?” Isabella asked doubtfully.

“Right above my shop,” Lily confirmed, “in the very heart of Main Street.”

“We live in the country. Right, Dad?”

“Yep.”

“On the ranch. Right, Dad?”

“Right.”

“Grandpa, though, he calls it the farm. Don’t he, Daddy?”

“That’s because he’s in charge of the farming end of things.”

“And Daddy, he does the horses and the cows and all the animal stuff. And he helps with the farm, too, and sometimes the tractor stuff. And he and Grandpa do the oil lease stuff together.”

“You talk too much,” he told her, nudging her with the suitcase. He looked to Lily and asked, “So where do you want these?”

She took the box from Isabella, saying, “I’ll put this in the bathroom. You can just leave that there, though.”

Tate nodded. “If you didn’t notice, there’s a coat closet here.”

“That’s convenient.”

“And there’s a walk-in closet in the front bedroom. I had them set up the bed in there. The back room is really small, but you could put a twin bed in there for company.”

She looked around the empty living area and said, “I think I’ll concentrate on a couch first.”

Tate chuckled. “Yeah, or a chair at least.”

She smiled and nodded. “I understood there was a washer and dryer.”

“That closet in the kitchen,” he said. “It’s one of those stacked jobs with the dryer on top.”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay, well...”

Isabella pointed at the trio of bare windows overlooking the vacant, softly lit street. Tilting her curly head, she asked, “Who’s that?”

Tate and Lily both moved toward the window, staring at the wildly waving figure in the window of the building across the street.

“Oh, that,” Tate said with a grin. “That’s Miss Ann Mars. You know her.”

“Sure. Ever’body knows Miss Mars. She’s had her shop in Bygones forever.”

“I guess you didn’t know that she lives downtown above her shop, too.”

“This ’N’ That,” Lily read the sign on the awning across the street. “What sort of shop is it?”

“Um, sundries,” Tate answered. “You know, needles and pins, candles, handkerchiefs, coin purses, hand mirrors, little stuff. That’s in the front. Out back, now that’s—how do I put this?—mostly junk, I guess.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. Her glasses slid down her nose, so she pushed them back up. Tate fought the urge to smile for some reason. Clearing his throat, he turned away from the window at the same time Miss Mars did.

“Miss Ann is on the committee,” he told Lily, pulling a card from his shirt pocket. “If you need something and you can’t reach me, you can always tell Miss Mars.” He pressed the card into Lily’s hand and started for the door.

“I’ll walk you down,” Lily said. “I want to take another look at the shop.”

Shrugging, he turned a sleepy-eyed Isabella toward the stairs. He ushered his daughter out onto the landing then slipped past her and down a few steps before turning and gathering her into his arms. She laid her precious red head on his shoulders. Laying his cheek against those bright curls, he thought of his late wife, Eve, and the old familiar ache of loss filled him. If their daughter could have known Eve for even a little while, she’d give up her matchmaking ways, but the imp had never known her mother.

After carrying his daughter down the stairs, he nodded at Ann Mars, who scampered across the street in her bedroom slippers and housedress, the coil of her long white hair sliding to and fro atop her head. The tiny, bent old woman had to be eighty if she was a day, and as far as Tate knew, she had never married. If she had family, he was unaware of them. Stepping up onto the curb, she crossed the sidewalk to greet Lily.

Tate made the introduction. “Miss Mars, Lily Farnsworth. Lily, Miss Ann Mars, SOS Committee member and your neighbor.”

“So happy to meet you!” Miss Mars exclaimed, bending far backward to get a good look at the newcomer. “You’re aptly named for a florist.”

Lily smiled and pushed her glasses up. “I guess I am, at that.”

Miss Mars stuck her nose to the window of Lily’s shop, asking, “What are in those big boxes in there?”

“Glass shelving.”

“You’ll have to put it together, I expect,” Tate stated, and Lily nodded. “You have the tools for it and everything?”

She blinked behind those round glasses. “Uh, not exactly.”

Not exactly. Tate shook his head. He supposed he’d better show up tomorrow morning prepared to get those shelves together for her.

“I have to get my girl home to bed,” he said, carrying his daughter to the truck.

Lily called out her thanks as he belted Isabella into her seat. Already thinking about what he would need to bring with him in the morning, he shut the truck door, walked around and got in behind the wheel. He’d be more comfortable about the whole thing if Lily Farnsworth looked less like a fetching, ballet-dancing librarian and more like Miss Ann Mars, but Tate was not one to shirk his responsibilities, no matter how much he might want to.

* * *

Looking up from the half-finished shelving unit the next morning, Lily tilted back her head to peer through her glasses and the thick beveled glass insert of her shop door. She’d already hung a little brass bell over the heavy green door, and it tinkled pleasantly, evoking a smile even before she recognized Tate’s tall, muscular figure. He carried a heavy, somewhat battered metal toolbox at his side. Pushing back the bill of his faded red cap, he stared down at her, his frown at odds with the dimples in his cheeks.

“How’d you get that together without tools?”

She lifted a screwdriver with one hand and a pair of pliers with the other, wishing she’d worn jeans instead of baggy leggings and a cute top instead of this shapeless, oversize T-shirt. Then again, when was she ever really at her best?

“Miss Ann had a few things out back of her shop. We dug around out there after breakfast, although I have to tell you, I think she knows exactly where to find every item in the place.”

“Huh.” He set down the heavy toolbox and parked his hands at his belt, brown to match his round-toed boots.

“Where’s Isabella?” Lily asked, getting up off the floor and dusting off her behind with both hands, though earlier she’d swept the finely refinished wood floor with a broom that she’d picked up at the This ’N’ That.

“With my folks.”

“Ah.” Not with her mother then.

He glanced around at the spring green walls. The short wall in the back had been painted a rich scarlet. He pointed at the unpainted counter. “You didn’t specify what color you wanted that, so the contractor just left some cans of paint in the back.”

“I’m thinking lavender,” she told him, “with the logo and name of the store on the front. I can freehand it later.”

“Really? You can just grab a paintbrush and do that by hand?” He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “Okay, if you say so. What about the humidifiers?”

Confused, Lily shook her head. “They don’t need painting.”

“I mean, have you decided how to fasten them down? State code requires it. Better let me take care of it now. Where do you want them?”

“Hmm, the one in the work area needs to be in the back corner facing this direction.” She held up her hands to demonstrate how she wanted it to face, and he went off to take care of it while she continued to work on the shelving.

Fifteen minutes of scraping and drilling later, he was back in the front of the shop and ready to tackle the display unit there.

“Where do you want this one?”

She pointed to the corner. He shoved the humidifier easily into position, but then she changed her mind. For a good half hour after that, he shoved the thing around from one spot to another, finally winding up right back where they’d started.

“I’m sorry. I—I just wasn’t certain.”

He shrugged, and got out his drill. “Better to be sure.”

They worked in relative silence, the buzz of his power drill the only sound. Every once in a while, a vehicle rolled down the street, stopped at the four-way stop sign and went on its way. People walked along the sidewalk, looked in the windows, smiled and waved, then walked on. Lily wasn’t gregarious enough to go out and introduce herself, but she smiled and waved back. After receiving a couple calls on her cell phone from friends in Boston, Lily realized that the reception wasn’t great, so her next call was to the telephone company to order a phone package for the shop and apartment, including land lines and cell service. The representative promised to send someone out the very next day for installation and activation.

Tate packed up his toolbox and prepared to leave, saying he had work out at the farm to get done. “Will you be okay here on your own?”

“Of course. I’m meeting Miss Mars for lunch in a little while. Then I’ll be back here getting ready for the opening.”

“That’s good. I don’t suppose you’ve met any of the other business owners yet.”

“Uh, no. I imagine they’re all doing what I’m doing, getting ready for the Grand Opening on Monday.”

Tate nodded. “Well, if you need anything, let me know.”

Lily smiled and nodded, wishing it was that easy. How many times had she heard her sister, Laurel, say that it was a simple matter of just asking for what you wanted? Lily could never make her outgoing younger sister understand how difficult such a thing was for her.

“Thank you for your help.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Say hi to Isabella for me.”

“Sure.” He opened the door, the jaunty little bell ringing cheerily, and paused. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Look, this isn’t Boston. Things move slower here, and there aren’t as many conveniences, but the town wants this to work as much as you do. Just give it a chance.”

She nodded, and her glasses slid down her nose. “Of course. It’ll come together.”

“That’s the spirit,” he told her.

She pushed up her glasses and put on a smile. He went out, leaving her alone. Lily grabbed a screwdriver, and went back to work. Miss Mars came by with a bologna sandwich for lunch, and the two women chatted about some outdoor furniture that Miss Mars thought might make suitable living room furnishings for Lily’s apartment. Lily promised to think about it, but then she fixed her mind on arranging supply bins in the workspace behind the scarlet wall so she could start unpacking her boxes and cases. Miss Mars left her to it, and Lily got to work.

When her bell tinkled again, she spun about, expecting Miss Mars or Tate. Someone else stood in the open doorway, however, a slender, petite woman of about sixty. Her short silver-gray hair had been styled to softly frame the strong features of a handsome face that just missed being too long thanks to a bluntly squared chin, prominent cheekbones and large blue eyes. She wore just a touch of mauve eye shadow and a complimentary shade of lipstick. Her tailored pantsuit and pumps marked her as a professional woman, as did the small leather handbag that she clutched to her side.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Coraline Connolly.” Then she did the most amazing thing.

She opened her arms, stepped forward and gave Lily something she hadn’t even realized she needed. A hug.

Chapter Three

“You must be Lily Farnsworth,” Coraline said, reaching up to pat Lily’s cheek.

Lily towered over the older woman. Her short stature did not lessen the mantle of authority that she wore like a second skin, however. About sixty, she exuded an aura of unshakeable conviction. Lily bowed her head, pushed up her eyeglasses and smiled.

“A shy one,” Coraline Connolly deduced kindly. Lily’s startled gaze zipped upward, colliding with Coraline’s amused one. “I’ve seen a thousand just like you, my dear, some too timid to let go of their mothers’ skirts on the first day of school, some who didn’t look up from their desks for the first week, at least one who didn’t speak aloud for a whole year.”

“Children,” Lily whispered.

“Not all,” Coraline refuted. “The last, the one who didn’t speak, was the mother of a student.” Shocked, Lily blinked. “Shyness can be a burden and a handicap,” Coraline went on. “You are not handicapped, I think, but you’ll be burdened until you learn to accept yourself as God made you.”

Lily drew back at that, not quite sure what to make of it. As usual, she chose to do what she always did when puzzled; she tucked the idea away for perusal later.

“You’re a member of the SOS Committee.”

“That’s right. Welcome to Bygones.”

“Thank you. I—I’m glad to be here.”

Coraline laughed. “That sounded a bit tentative.”

Lily’s slender hands fluttered. “Oh, I’m just... That is, I only got here last night, and it’s a lot of work. But I’ll have everything ready for the opening. I’m sure I will.”

Coraline nodded and glanced around. “Is everything to your liking?”

“Oh, yes. I love the shop. And the apartment, too, though it’s rather bare right now. But that can wait.”

“All right. I assume that Tate Bronson has been in to see you.”

“He was here a good part of the morning, actually.”

“I see, and did he say when he would return?”

“No, not really.”

Coraline nodded thoughtfully before asking, “Do you need anything?”

Lily looked around the shop. What she needed most was encouragement, confidence, but she couldn’t very well say so, not even to this kindly woman. She shook her head.

“Well, I won’t keep you longer than necessary,” Coraline said. “I know how busy you must be, getting ready for next Monday’s big event. I just wanted to let you know what the committee has planned for that day.”

She went over the details, noting that immediately after Independence Day, the patriotic decorations would come down and the Grand Opening banners would go up. Each of the new businesses would be showcased in a special edition of the Bygones Gazette, the local weekly newspaper, on the Friday before the Grand Opening. Following the close of business on that first Monday, the committee would sponsor a reception in the Community Room across the street.

“Tate will be your official host that day.”

Lily nodded. “That all sounds great. I have a fresh flower delivery coming on Friday morning, so everything should be in place in plenty of time.”

Coraline smiled. “Wonderful. Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Lily replied, offering her hand. “Come again. Soon.”

Instead of shaking hands, Coraline gave her another quick hug. Afterward she tilted her head, asking, “Would you mind if I prayed for you?”

“Not at all,” Lily exclaimed, smiling broadly. “Please do.”

Coraline patted her cheek again and left her. Lily sighed, pleased. She felt that she had at least two friends now, Miss Ann Mars and Coraline Connolly. It would be stupid of her to wish that she might count Tate Bronson among their number; more than stupid. It would be part of the same unhealthy pattern of the past, part of what she’d left Boston to get away from, what she needed to leave behind and avoid in the future. No, she wouldn’t wish to count Tate among her friends, but if it should happen... Turning off that thought, she went back to work.

* * *

Miss Mars dropped in on Wednesday with both breakfast and lunch. Others came by to say hello, beginning with the shop owners on either side of Love in Bloom: Melissa Sweeney from the bakery on the corner and Allison True from the bookstore on the other side of the flower shop. Josh Smith went up and down the street distributing cups of coffee from his first official brew. The Cozy Cup Café—on the corner opposite the bakery—was ready for business, he declared, so he stayed to get Lily’s computer system operational before moving on to do the same for others. The mayor came by to say hello and welcome her to town, as did the chief of police, Joe Sheridan. Both were members of the SOS Committee.

Whitney Leigh, a serious young reporter with the Bygones Gazette, spent a few minutes getting background information for Friday’s special edition, but Lily’s stammering answers didn’t seem to impress her very much, so she didn’t stay long. Other than asking how many years of experience Lily had as a florist and who she thought the mystery benefactor might be behind the grants, Whitney only asked a few questions about the specials Lily intended to offer for the Grand Opening.

Lily knew she shouldn’t feel anxious, but she couldn’t help it. So much seemed to be riding on this enterprise, and she couldn’t help feeling unequal to the task. Even as the others ventured in and out of her shop, she wondered when Tate and Isabella would return. She considered calling Tate to ask his advice on a number of small issues but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she got out the paint cans and a brush and tackled the counter.

When Miss Mars closed her shop early and went upstairs, then came down again wearing a hat and gloves with her usual shirtwaist dress, Lily realized that she’d have to do dinner on her own. A moment later an aging but well-kept blue sedan pulled up to the curb, and Miss Mars got inside with another woman. The car drove away, turning left onto Bronson Avenue. Feeling abandoned, Lily gave herself a stern talking-to. She had moved halfway across the country on the basis of a newspaper article. The least she could do now was walk down the street to the grocery store on her own. Determined, she left the shop and set out.

With only three checkout lanes, all currently unmanned, the Hometown Grocery didn’t have much to recommend it when compared to the stores in Boston. The fresh produce department would have fit neatly into the bed of a pickup truck, and the butcher department had obviously been shut down, leaving only a single refrigerated case of packaged meats. Lily wandered the aisles virtually alone, without even the company of piped music to mute the squeak of the wheels on the shopping cart. Nevertheless she found all the ingredients for a fine salad, including a small tin of cocktail shrimp and her favorite bottled dressing. She gave up trying to find a suitable bread to eat with it and settled for crackers, thinking that the new bakery was going to do well here. While she was at it, she bought a few things for breakfast and lunch the following day, too.

Knowing that she couldn’t carry more, she resisted the urge to buy kitchen gadgets from the selection offered and approached the checkout, surprised to find that a tall thin brunette had materialized from somewhere. The brunette displayed quick efficiency, her thin dark hair scraped back into a tight ponytail.

“You must be the florist.”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Lily Farnsworth.” She handed over several bills, smiling.

“Heard about you from Tate,” said the brunette, making change.

“Oh?”

This elicited a nod as the woman began bagging the groceries.

Lily couldn’t help wondering just what Tate had said or where he was keeping himself, for that matter. She thought he was supposed to be her host.

“Where is everyone?” she asked tentatively.

“Wednesday evening,” the woman replied, as if that was answer enough. When Lily just blinked at her, she added, “Most folks are in church for midweek service.”

“Ah.”

“Folks don’t have midweek service back in Boston?”

“Some do, yes.” But Lily’s church had not.

“Hereabouts, nearly everyone goes to midweek service,” the checker said. “We rotate shifts here at the grocery so no one has to miss the service more than once a month.”

“I see.”

“Folks in Boston must eat shrimp,” the checker commented cheerfully, pushing the bags toward Lily.

“Yes, we...they do,” Lily said, gathering up the bags. “Boston is known for its seafood.”

The brunette smiled. “That’s good. Maybe I can move those cans back there now.”

Lily glanced down at her groceries and nodded. Canned shrimp and midweek service. Well, it was a start. She had the makings of a reasonable meal and a good explanation for the empty aisles. She liked the thought of a churchgoing community. She’d been the odd man out for as long as she could remember, the one who didn’t fit, even among her own family. Maybe it would be different here.

* * *

Lily slept in the next morning, it being a national holiday. She expected some sort of community Independence Day celebration, but when none had materialized by midmorning, she went downstairs and got busy. Miss Mars came up with a suggestion. Lily doubted it could work at first. Even if the flowers arrived precisely on schedule the next day, she didn’t have the resources to do as the lady proposed.

“You can find what you need in my shop,” Miss Mars insisted. “Just use your imagination.”

Lily shrugged doubtfully. “First I would need to visit the other businesses.”

“Of course. That’s no problem. I think everyone is doing just what you are today.”

How could Lily refuse to try after that? Leaving her shop unlocked—as Miss Mars pointed out, they would be within “shouting distance” all the time—they went from shop to shop, starting with the Sweet Dreams Bakery on the corner. Miss Mars was right. All the newcomers were hard at work.

Melissa Sweeney could not have been sweeter or more enthusiastic, and her shop gave Lily lots of ideas. Melissa eagerly accepted the offer of the loan of a floral arrangement to decorate her counter for the Grand Opening. Josh Smith, at the Cozy Cup Café, who struck Lily as a bit of a computer geek, did the same, as did Allison True at the Happy Endings Bookstore, Patrick Fogerty of The Fixer-Upper hardware store and Chase Rollins at Fluff & Stuff, the pet shop.

The problem remained supplies, but Lily did as Miss Mars advised and combed through the back room of the This ’N’ That, with happy results. Not only did she find some wonderful containers—a tin bread box, an old typewriter, a battered percolator, a bird cage, an antique vase and a rusty length of pipe, as well as a pair of old cowboy boots and the hat to go with them—she even found some usable silk flowers. She also discovered several bits of furniture that she could use in her apartment. In fact, the outdoor stuff that Miss Mars wanted her to consider didn’t look very “outdoorsy” at all. Rattan with red cushions about the same shade of scarlet as the short wall in her workroom, the three-piece set might work out just fine.

Lily took the lot and got it all at a very good price. At least Miss Mars was seeing some profit from the SOS project. Hauling as much of her newly found treasures over to her place as she could, Lily discovered that she had company.

“Lily!” Isabella cried. Dressed in patriotic garb, she rushed forward to throw her arms around Lily’s waist as if they were old, dear friends. “Happy Independence Day!”

Lily laughed, juggling armfuls of treasures. “Hello. How good to see you. How have you been?”

“Fine. Your shop looks pretty.” Isabella obviously liked the lavender counter and the little scarlet heart dotting the i in the shop logo.

“I’m guessing that your favorite color is purple,” Lily said, depositing her goods on the countertop, but Isabella shook her head.

“Pink!”

“Really?” Lily brushed off her hands, smiling. “I’ll remember that.”

Tate, whom Lily had tried hard not to notice too keenly, made an impatient sound. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting here for twenty minutes.”

Lily’s delight at seeing them diminished. “I’m sorry. Miss Mars came up with a plan for me to make floral arrangements for each of the new shops to use as decorations for the Grand Opening, but I had to find the right containers. And look! Just look at what we found.”

She started describing how she would use each of her treasures. “What could be better for the Fluff & Stuff than a bird cage? Right? I’m thinking blues and greens and yellows. We’ll hang it right next to that cheeky parrot of his. And the percolator will work great for the coffee shop. Not sure about those flowers, maybe some ‘chocolaty’ reds. With a little paint, the bread box will make a beautiful display for the bakery next door. All pastels there. Oh, my favorite is an antique typewriter. That’s still across the street. It’s sooo heavy, but how perfect is that for a bookstore? Plus, I’m finally going to have furni—”

“So you’re going to do all this and still be ready for the opening?” Tate interrupted sharply.

Stung, Lily bowed her head. “Yes, I—I think so. If I have some help.”

Tate stepped back, and Lily cringed inwardly. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to imply... That is...I suppose I am a bit overwhelmed, but when Miss Mars suggested that flower arrangements for all the shops would be a good way to showcase my design abilities and dress up the shops for the Grand Opening, too...” Lily sighed and shook her head. “Perhaps I’m not as forceful as I should be. I’ve always been a bit shy, and...” She let the words dwindle away, uncertain where she was even going with this.

Tate cleared his throat and mumbled something about being worried when he’d found the shop empty and not wanting to overburden her when she was trying to get the place together.

In the midst of the awkward silence that followed, Isabella piped up with “You were wrong, Dad, and Mrs. Connolly was right.”

Tate speared her with a pointed glance. “Duh.”

“Just saying,” Isabella went on, shrugging.

Lily looked from one to the other of them in confusion.

Tate rolled his eyes and admitted, “Coraline came to see me, okay? She thought you needed help and wanted to organize a work brigade, but I assumed you were doing okay and we just needed to stay out of your way.” He looked aside, adding, “You appeared to be getting things together. Others seemed to need more help.”

Lily had to admit that, from what she’d seen just today, a bakery, coffee shop, bookstore, pet shop and hardware store all required significantly more preparation than a floral shop. “You have a point there. I’m the problem. I—I haven’t been as focused as I need to be. Frankly, being from Boston, I’m used to having more people around.” Most of whom would actually speak to her without waiting for her to speak first.

Tate rubbed a hand over his head. “Well, about that, the committee sort of asked the townspeople to leave all you newcomers alone until you get set up and settled.”

Lily straightened. “What?” They had actually asked people to leave her alone?

“We had to,” he argued. “Otherwise, they’d have been all over you on day one with covered dishes and dinner invitations.”

Lily smiled. “Really?”

“We had to turn down every civic group in town to keep them from plastering you all with invitations to join everything from the Quilting Club to the Birthday Lunch Bunch.”

“Seriously?”

“You name it, you’re going to get hit up to join it. Soon.”

“Oh. That’s...that’s nice.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “You can tell me later if you still think that’s nice.”

“No, really, I was looking forward to the sense of community that you always hear about in a small town. In fact, I was hoping for a community-wide Independence Day celebration.”

“Not this year,” Tate said grimly. “The city had to decide between that and the Grand Opening reception.”

“And they decided on the reception?”

“It seemed more important.”

Lily took that in. “Wow.” This thing was even more vital than she’d realized.

“We got some fireworks at home for later tonight,” Isabella told her, cutting her eyes at her father.

Tate cleared his throat. “Right now, though, we have work to do.” He clapped his hands together. “So what’s first?”

Lily shook her head. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“What’s first?” he interrupted firmly.

Biting her lips against a smile, she shrugged. “I bought a lot of stuff from Miss Mars, and it’s got to get over here somehow. Some of it’s pretty big.”

“I’ll pull my truck around the back of her store.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said. “Isabella, let’s go.”

She shook her curly red head. “I’ll stay here and help Lily.”

“Sure,” Lily agreed quickly. “I’ve got bins to fill in the workroom. Spools and spools of ribbon to line up.”

“I like ribbon,” Isabella declared.

Lily grinned down at her. “I thought you might.”

Tate paused, but then he nodded. “Okay. We’ll finish those display shelves next.”

“Wonderful.”

He went off to fetch the rest of her purchases, leaving Lily and Isabella to unpack and arrange spools of ribbon according to color and width. When he returned, Lily helped him carry the furniture up to the apartment. She had something to sit on now, as well as a bedside table and a lamp. Later she would paint the rattan the same shade, hopefully, as the cushions and accessorize with a contrasting color, perhaps a rich yellow gold. She couldn’t think of that now, though. Instead she hurried back downstairs with Tate to get to work in the shop. The time flew by; she barely seemed to have time to think, and as the shop took shape, her excitement and her hope grew.

Only as Isabella began to flag, her little tummy rumbling, did Lily stop to take stock. That’s when she realized how much this one man and his sweet little daughter had accomplished for her. How could she not like them, him, just a little then? How could she not count them among her friends? Even if the relationship was predicated on business, they could still be friends, couldn’t they? So long as she didn’t let herself think of him as anything more than that, everything would be fine.

* * *

“I’m hungry.”

Tate tightened the last screw, stepped back and glanced at his wrist. “Is that the time? No wonder you’re hungry, honey. Wow. Where’d the day go?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Lily quipped, getting up off the floor. Tate chuckled. She seemed to spend half her time on the floor—and the other half shoving her glasses back up her nose. He couldn’t help smiling and shaking his head.

“I think we’ve made good progress,” Tate said, putting away the screwdriver.

“We have, indeed,” she agreed. “Thank you both. Very much.”

“You’re welcome. Now we really have to get going.”

“I understand. If I don’t run, I won’t make it to the grocery before it closes.”

He made a face. “The store closed early for the holiday.”

She bowed her head. “I should have thought of that.”

“You can have dinner with us,” Isabella instantly invited. “Right, Dad? We got lots of leftovers from our barbecue at Grandma’s house today.”

Lifting her head, Lily blinked at Tate, and he blinked back. He couldn’t very well leave her without dinner, and he needed to get home sooner rather than later.

“Tell you what, we’ll pick up some burgers at The Everything on the way out to our place. I saw they were open today, and I have to get home to feed the livestock. It’s not far, so I can just drive you back in later after the fireworks.”

Obviously surprised, Lily hesitated. He found himself holding his breath until she smiled and nodded, which made no sense at all, except that Isabella would have been disappointed, of course.

“Okay. Do I have time to run upstairs first?”

“Sure. I can lock up here and get Isabella into the truck.”

“Great.” She handed over the keys and hurried out.

He turned off lights, locked the doors, ignored his daughter’s none-too-subtle babbling about how much she liked Lily and belted the matchmaking little magpie into her booster seat.

“She has pretty hair and eyes and hands,” Isabella said, “and she’s very nice, too.”

“That’s enough now,” he told her firmly. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. Understand?” Isabella nodded, but he’d seen that look in her eye before. “I mean it. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“If you had a wife—”

“I had a wife,” Tate reminded Isabella softly. “I don’t want another.” She quieted finally, and he pulled out his cell phone, saying casually, “I’m going to call ahead and order our burgers now, but this is not a date. It’s just a nice thing to do for someone new in town on a holiday. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He doubted that, but he tapped his daughter on the end of her button nose and closed the truck door.

Lily came skipping down the stairs a couple minutes later in skinny jeans, athletic shoes and a snug red T-shirt.

Tate tried not to gulp, but he had the sudden feeling that he’d just made a very big mistake.

Chapter Four

“I, uh, called ahead for the burgers,” Tate managed, trying not to stare. “Ordered yours with everything but cheese. So, uh, that way you can take anything off the burger that you don’t want.”

Lily smiled that soft smile that did funny things to his insides and said, “That’s fine.”

“I ordered the condiments on the side, too.”

“Okay.”

He wanted to kick himself. Instead he said, “Let’s go then.”

He opened the passenger door for her, then wished he hadn’t because of the way she smiled and the way that smile made him feel. Lily hopped inside the truck, and Tate hurried around to do the same and start up the engine.

The street was deserted, so he hooked a U-turn, came to a stop at the four-way and turned left onto Bronson. Half a block later, he turned left again, bringing the truck to a stop in front of the L-shaped building across from the school.

“Interesting building,” Lily commented.

Tate chuckled. “If by interesting you mean cobbled together from an old house, a shed and a gas station.”

“Why is it called The Everything?”

“Well, it’s part convenience store, part grill and part gas station, which was just about everything we needed around here at the time.”

“What are the picnic tables for?”

“Extra seating, and it gives the local teens someplace to hang out even when the grill is closed. Velma Dill, one of the proprietors, sometimes nukes frozen pizzas for them. Her husband, Elwood, is one of the SOS Committee members. You’ll meet them at the reception after the Grand Opening.”

“He’s the one with the beard,” Isabella put in from the backseat.

Tate chuckled. “It’s a joke. The Dills are self-proclaimed hippies, the long-haired sort, in their early 50s, both with visible tattoos, earrings and headscarves. They basically dress and look pretty much alike.”

“But Elwood has a beard, I take it,” Lily surmised.

“A long, scraggly one. He’s actually a pretty good guy. Gives gasoline to folks who can’t pay, and there are a lot of those around since Randall shut down the plant.”

“I read about that,” Lily said.

“The Dills have really stepped up since Randall Manufacturing closed,” Tate told her. “We try to give them as much business as we can. They’re open today so folks who can’t afford to cook out can get burgers at half price.”

Lily nodded. “Good to know. I don’t have a car, but the store is certainly convenient, and a girl’s gotta eat. I’ll be sure to give them my business.”

Smiling, Tate went in and picked up the burgers and fries while Lily and Isabella waited in the truck. As he climbed back in a few minutes later, he heard his daughter saying, “And Dad doesn’t ever do anything fun.”

Imagining what else she’d said, Tate reached into the bag and took out a cardboard cup of fries, passing them back to her, along with a bottle of water. “Here. Eat these.” That ought to keep her little mouth busy.

Instead of heading on down Bronson Avenue and then taking a left on Church Street, Tate chose to head east on School Drive. That way Lily got to see Bronson Park, with its pretty pond, gazebo and playground. They turned back south on Granary Road and passed by the old Bronson Homestead. The house now contained the Public Library. Behind the Homestead, on property donated by the Bronsons, stood Bygones Community Church, which fronted on the aptly named Church Street. They passed a few residential streets and then drove over a cattle guard onto Bronson property.

“So it’s the city limit on one side and your place on the other,” Lily clarified. “You’re practically in town then.”

“Nope. House is still a mile or so away.”

She lifted her eyebrows at that, quipping, “This is quite a yard you’ve got here.”

He chuckled. “You could say that. It’s part of the original holdings. My folks’ house is about a half mile east of mine. We’re country folk. Wouldn’t know how to get along in town.”

“I’m a city girl,” she said. “Bygones doesn’t really feel like town to me.”

“All a matter of perspective, I guess,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, looking around her.

He tried to see it as she did, the wide-open spaces, the fields gilded by the rising moon. It looked like peace to him. It looked like the whole world. It looked like home. He hadn’t prayed in a long while, but if he was going to pray, he would ask God to make this crazy scheme to save Bygones work out, for Lily Farnsworth’s sake as much as anyone’s.

* * *

Nothing Lily had seen thus far had prepared her for what she found at the end of the road. She had already discovered that the topography of the plains was deceptive. Though seemingly flat as pancakes, they were, in fact, low undulating hills, wherein lay small hidden valleys, so that what looked like shrubs in the distance gradually became trees tucked into broad, rolling folds. It came as no surprise then that, as they topped a shallow rise, a wide shady hollow spread out before them. No, the surprise was in how Tate had adapted his home to the natural beauty of his glade.

Lily’s gaze fell first on the barn in a field of golden, knee-high grass. Constructed in the shape of a large rectangle, the building’s walls of native stone supported the weight of its steep sheet-metal roof, while the upper diamond-shaped end walls were made of wood painted a deep, rich red. Corrals of stone, wood and metal pipe surrounded the barn, as well as several smaller outbuildings of the same dark red.

The two-story house mirrored the barn in construction, with the lower walls built of native stone and the upper portion of cedar planking stained a deep red. Even the roof was made of shiny corrugated sheet metal and extended to cover a deep porch that surrounded the house on three sides. The builder had somehow managed to tuck the house, which couldn’t have been more than ten years old yet managed to seem ageless, into a grove of mature hickory trees. Stone walkways completed the picture.

The whole place seemed to have emerged naturally from its surroundings, as if everything had grown there organically. God might have designed the land for these buildings. Certainly, whoever had designed the buildings had done so with the land in mind. To Lily’s thinking, the only thing the place lacked was flowers.

She wouldn’t have planted formal gardens. They would have looked out of place and ruined the natural ambience. Instead she would have added a rosebush here or there, and some hanging pots of flowers, a splash of color to draw the eye. She couldn’t think of another thing that she might have added, especially when she saw the rocking chairs and swing on the porch.

“It’s beautiful, Tate,” she whispered reverently, “just beautiful.”

He tossed her a smile as he guided the truck around a curve in the pebbled drive and toward the back of the house. “Thanks. It’s been a work in progress.” He glanced into the rearview mirror, addressing his daughter. “Pumpkin, will you take Lily and the food into the house? I need to get to the barn.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

“Can I help?” Lily asked.

He brought the truck to a halt in front of the open garage. “Ever feed livestock?”

“No, but I’m willing to learn.”

He turned to look at Isabella in the backseat. “What about you, Buttercup?”

“I’ll show Lily what to do.”

“Okay, then.”

He backed the truck out and headed for the barn. Two minutes later they were walking along a graveled path. Tate closed a gate at the back of the barn then went into a small room just inside the building.

“Open the stall doors. We have an automatic feed and water system for the horses that I can activate in here. We’ll have to feed the cattle up front by hand after I drive in the horses.”

Isabella showed Lily how to slide the gates open. They would have to quickly roll them closed again after the horses were inside. Once the automatic feed system started dumping grain into the bins, Tate grabbed a rope and walked out to one of the corrals. Soon hooves thundered through the barn. Isabella hopped up on a post and advised Lily to climb up behind her. Perhaps a dozen different horses swung into six stalls and dropped their noses into feed bins. Isabella plopped down to the straw strewn floor and started whisking the gates closed. Lily followed suit. Tate jogged up, coiling his rope, and helped finish the job.

He slung the rope over one shoulder and returned to the small room at the back of the building, reappearing a few moments later with a laden wheelbarrow. The girls followed him to a pen at the front of the barn. While Isabella and, belatedly, Lily, dumped feed into a bucket, Tate crawled over a fence and dropped a loop over the head of a good-size calf, which he then snugged to a post.

“Sugar, bring me the kit,” he said, running a hand down the calf’s flank to its belly. Isabella picked up a black zippered bag and handed it to Lily, who then carried it over to Tate. “Grab his tail,” he instructed, “but watch those back legs and don’t get yourself kicked.”

“Uh. Okay.”

He glanced up in surprise at Lily then shot his daughter a speaking glance before turning his attention back to the calf. “Pull on his tail. Just stay well back while I doctor him.”

Lily looked at Isabella, who nodded encouragingly, and grabbed hold of the swishing tail, stepping back and leaning away from the animal. It jerked and bawled, but Lily held on, reasoning that if Isabella could manage such a feat then she surely could. Crouching down next to the animal, Tate crooned a steady stream of encouraging words as he unzipped the kit, prepared a syringe and then irrigated a wound on the calf’s underside, explaining his actions as he went along. The animal didn’t really put up much of a fight. Apparently it had been through this process several times already. Tate ended by giving the ungrateful beast an injection, then he waved Lily away, released the calf’s head and chuckled as it trotted to the bucket to feed.

He and Lily walked to the fence. After helping her climb over, he passed the medical kit to Isabella and easily vaulted the fence himself. Lily and Isabella sat in the truck while Tate tossed bales of hay into the back before driving around to the corral in front. He cut the wire on the bales, and the three of them tossed the hay into the corral to feed the few head of cattle penned there for one reason or another.

They scrubbed their hands at a spigot beside the barn, using a bar of soap inside a net hanging by a chain, and ate their burgers sitting on the tailgate of the truck while the sky darkened and the stars began to pop out.

She said a quick, silent prayer of thanks for the meal, as was her habit, and took a bite. Now this, Lily thought, breathing deeply of the loamy smells of earth and animals and growing things, is more like it. While nothing at all like what she had imagined, this was somehow what she had been seeking when she’d filled out her grant application back in Boston. Strangely she finally felt that she was getting to know Bygones and Kansas. Or maybe it was that she was getting to know Tate and Isabella.

“Grandma and Grandpa will be here with the fireworks soon,” Tate observed, after chugging the last of his water and recapping the bottle.

“Time to strain the berry tea!” Isabella announced excitedly.

They climbed into the truck and drove to the house. This time Tate pulled into the neatly organized garage and everyone got out. Isabella led the way, chattering all the while about the special tea that had been steeping all day.

“It’s a berry special recipe,” she joked. “It come down in the family. We get the berries as soon as they’re dark enough. They grow practically on the ground, so you got to watch where you’re stepping, and when we get enough I boil ’em up with the leaves. Daddy helps me. And we cook the sugar in until you can’t even see it anymore. When it’s not hot, we put it in the fridge, and then after a long time, I pour it through a piece of material. What is it, Daddy?”

“Cheesecloth.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know why it’s called that, ’cause we don’t make cheese. We’re making tea, blue tea for Red, White and Blue Day! It’s tadition.”

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