Granddad had accepted that, Scott recalled as he sat down on the freshly turned ground in front of the stone. He’d seen all that in his headstrong grandson, and more.
I’m sad to see you go, he’d said the last time Scott left their tiny hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains for some vague destination. But I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.
Leaning his head against the marker, Scott followed his memories back in time and dredged up a visual of Granddad, smiling and waving as he drove away. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I missed out on seeing you again, Granddad. I got home as fast as I could.”
The warm spring breeze ruffled through his hair, and he felt a small measure of calm settle over him. Even though he knew it was unlikely, he chose to believe it was his grandfather reaching down from heaven to let him know he understood.
“Scott?”
An unfamiliar voice jolted him from his brooding, and he looked up to find a stranger looking down at him. A very pretty stranger, he noted with surprise. Dressed in a pink tank top and faded overalls spattered with every color imaginable, she had dark, curly hair and eyes that made him think of a flawless summer sky. She was holding a spade and a bushel basket filled with flowers, and she set them next to Granddad’s grave as if she meant to stay.
In the interest of avoiding trouble, he’d developed a habit of ducking his head and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. But this was another place, he reminded himself, and here that kind of behavior would come across as rude. Recalling the manners his mother had insisted they all learn and use, he got to his feet and did his best to put on a friendly face. “That’s me. I’ve been gone awhile, so I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Jenna Reed,” she replied, offering a slender hand covered in flecks of purple and green. “I moved here last summer and started up Reed’s Artworks. You may have seen my sign out on the highway on your way into town.”
That explained her unusual clothes, and he tried to sound friendly. “I did, actually. How’s business?”
“Oh, you know how it is,” she said breezily, as if they’d known each other for months instead of mere seconds. “Up and down, depending on the day.”
Like his life, Scott added silently. Meeting this lovely, outgoing woman in a cemetery had to qualify as an up, though. Maybe it was a sign of better things to come. “Yeah, I hear you. How’d you know who I was?”
“I’ve gotten to know your family since I’ve been here, and I recognized you from the picture of you and your brothers on your grandmother’s mantel.”
“How’s she doing?” When he realized he’d just admitted he hadn’t gone to visit her yet, he mentally cringed. Acting without thinking had gotten him in a world of trouble, he cautioned himself. Now that he’d escaped the worst of it, he really needed to work on being less impulsive.
“You know Olivia. Everything’s fine, even when the rest of us think it’s falling apart. At the end, she was the most positive one in your whole family. I’ve never seen anyone so strong.”
“Yup, that’s Gram.”
The conversation stalled right there, and he searched for a way to grind his rusty social skills back into gear. Then he remembered the shovel and flowers and nodded toward them. “Whatcha got there?”
It wasn’t smooth, but judging by her quick smile, she either didn’t notice his floundering or didn’t mind. “Flowers for Will from the Crossroads Church. We thought he should have them year-round, so I volunteered to plant some perennials that will come up every spring.”
“That’s nice of you.” He couldn’t imagine why she’d do such a thing for someone she wasn’t related to. In the world he’d been living in, it was everyone for himself, and people didn’t help anyone else unless there was something in it for them. And then, out of nowhere, he heard himself ask, “Want a hand?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He couldn’t believe what he’d just done, but there was no way he could change his mind without looking like a total jerk. It wasn’t as if he had anything pressing to do this morning, so he picked up the shovel and got to work turning the soil back for a small garden.
“Let’s make an arch,” she suggested, pointing in a semicircle. “That will look nicer, don’t you think?”
It didn’t matter much to him, since he thought the flowers were more than enough, but he appreciated her asking for his input. It had been a long time since he’d been treated with the kind of respect this perky stranger was showing him. “Sounds good.”
“Your grandmother has the prettiest gardens,” Jenna commented while she set peat pots of various flowers into a pattern that seemed to make sense to her. Apparently not satisfied, she rearranged them several times until she finally quit and sat back on the heels of her sneakers. “What do you think?”
“Pretty.”
Angling a look up at him, she gave him a teasing smile. “The flowers or me?”
He caught himself smiling back, and alarms started clanging in his head. Another hard-won lesson had taught him that women were nothing but trouble, and pretty ones were the worst of all. He had a feeling the worst of all were the artistic kind with freckles sprinkled across their noses.
Being drawn to her so quickly baffled—and worried—him, and he firmly put his conflicting reactions to her aside as he got back to his digging. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her watching him, studying him like some new species she’d discovered under a microscope. His movements allowed him to glance over at her every shovelful or so, and at one point he met those amazing eyes head-on.
Setting down the pot she was holding, she gave him a gentle smile. “Did you want to ask me something?”
A lot of somethings, he thought, but one zoomed to the top of his list. He plunged the shovel into the ground and leaned on the battered red handle. “How much do you know about me?”
“More than you’d like, I’m guessing.” Another smile, this one tinged with compassion. “We all make mistakes, Scott.”
“Most folks don’t make the kind that land them in prison.”
“I try not to judge people based on what they might have done before, but on what I see in them right now.” Pausing, she gave him an assessing look. “I see a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong crowd. He owned up to his part in what they did and took his punishment for it. Now he’s come back to his hometown, where people care about him, hoping to put his life back together. How’m I doing?”
Those warnings in his mind blared again, but quieter this time. Despite his misgivings, Scott allowed himself a slight grin. “Fine. Makes me wonder how someone as young as you would come by that opinion, though.”
“Just how young do you think I am?”
He wasn’t touching that one, so he said, “Well, I’m twenty-seven, and I’m thinking you’re a couple years younger than that. How’m I doing?” he added, echoing her earlier question.
“Fine,” she parroted him with a little smirk, then got serious. “You’re not the only person in the world who’s had to shake off their past and start over again, y’know.”
With that, she took a trowel from her basket and began digging in the earth he’d turned. It struck him as an odd thing to say, but she didn’t volunteer anything more. Taking her silence as a hint that she was done discussing that topic, he began shaping the crescent she’d requested. “So how do you like it here?”
“It’s a charming little town, and the people are really nice.”
He’d known