The Husband She Can't Forget. Patricia Forsythe

       CHAPTER ONE

      THE CRUNCH OF tires as a pickup turned onto the long, graveled drive of Joslin Gardens caused a bobwhite quail to cease the endless reciting of his name and brought Carly Joslin’s attention from the damp, woven cloth she was spreading over the truck bed of fresh-picked vegetables. She frowned. She didn’t recognize the silver dual-cab pickup and she was running short on time. She had to deliver this load of produce to a restaurant on the other side of the county and then change clothes for the Memorial Day barbecue, where she hoped to arrive on time.

      It couldn’t be a customer. The fresh produce stand that a couple of high school kids operated for her was shuttered for the day and her employees had gone home. However, people did tend to stop by to ask her advice on gardening, or to purchase one of the pieces of furniture she refurbished. Raising a hand to shade her eyes, she tried to peer through the truck’s tinted windshield to identify her visitor. She usually enjoyed visits from her customers, but there really wasn’t time for an extended chat with anyone today, and besides...

      Shock jolted through her, nearly buckling her knees, when she recognized the driver.

      “It can’t be,” she whispered as she felt color drain from her face. “What’s he doing here?”

      Shakily, she gripped the side of the truck while she reminded herself to breathe and forced her frozen expression into what she hoped was an approximation of a welcoming smile.

      The fancy pickup took the rutted and pocked drive slowly, probably to minimize gravel popping up and marring the perfect paint job. The recent rains had laid waste to the drive and Carly intended to have it graded and graveled as soon as the weather improved for an extended period. Now, however, she was glad she had waited. The longer it took for the vehicle to reach her, the more time she had to prepare herself to meet the driver.

      Still, she couldn’t quite resist the urge to compare the upscale vehicle with her own truck, which her father had bought the year she was born and everyone in the family had used since then. The only thing new was its paint job: dark green with the Joslin Gardens logo she’d created on the sides—curling vines and plump vegetables shaped like letters and numbers. Her pickup ran beautifully except for the air-conditioning, which no one could coax into doing its job.

      The silver truck stopped several feet away from her and Luke Sanderson stepped out of the cab. Instantly she saw that he wasn’t the gangly boy she’d known a dozen years ago, but a self-assured man dressed in crisp jeans and a dark purple shirt.

      He was taller than she remembered, but that might be due to his cowboy boots. When she’d known him before, he’d usually worn work boots, sneakers or sandals. The blond hair that had once hung shaggily around his ears was now perfectly cut. It appeared to be a shade darker, and his skin less tanned, probably because he’d spent the intervening years in an office, not working outside as he had back then.

      There was no sign of the beard he’d once had. Instead his jaw was smooth shaven. His face was fuller. One thing hadn’t changed, though. His eyes were still a light shade of caramel brown that had so intrigued her from the minute they’d met.

      “Hello, Carly,” he said, shutting the pickup’s door behind him and walking over to stand in front of her.

      His voice was deeper, she thought, but maybe that was because she hadn’t heard it in so many years. For some crazy reason, her pounding heart had bounced into her throat.

      “Hello, Lu-Luke,” she stammered, pausing and trying to get a grip on her emotions. This was the first time she’d spoken to him in twelve years. “This is a surprise.”

      “I should have called, but it seemed easier to drop by.” He nodded toward his truck. “I’ve got something for you. I thought if you weren’t here, I could leave it on the porch with a note.”

      “Something for me?” She lifted her hands, palm out, as she shook her head. “After all these years, Luke, I can’t imagine...”

      “It’s from Wendolin.”

      “Your grandmother? But she’s—”

      “She left you this in her will. Left it to both of us, actually, but it’s not something I’d be interested in, so it’s all yours.”

      “What is it?”

      “Come on. I’ll show you.” He walked to the back of the pickup, opened the tailgate and untied the ropes firmly holding a tarp in place around a big, rectangular object.

      Although her knees felt a little shaky, Carly followed him. When he flipped the tarp to one side, she gasped.

      “Wendolin’s hope chest,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes. Reaching out a shaky hand, she ran her fingers over the ornately carved flat top of the trunk. “This is the one that was in her bedroom, isn’t it? At the foot of her bed.”

      “Yes.” Luke’s throat worked and he cleared it before he went on. “She designated years ago that you were to have it. She said you would appreciate it more than anyone else because you love things with a history.”

      “That’s true. I...I do appreciate it. And she left this to me? I never expected her to do such a thing.”

      “She always loved you. Your visits to her these past few years meant a lot.”

      “They meant a lot to me, too, but certainly didn’t mean she had to leave me a family heirloom.” Tears stung her eyes and Carly blinked them back.

      “It did to her...and to me.”

      Carly couldn’t form an answer around the knot of sorrow, longing and regret that clogged her throat. Wendolin Bayer had been a wonderful, loving woman, a steadfast friend when Carly had needed one the most.

      “My dad...”

      “What about him?” Carly choked out. Turning away, she used the sleeve of her T-shirt to dab at her eyes. Robert Sanderson was the last person in the world she wanted to talk about, or even think about, right now.

      “He said he saw you at Omi’s funeral,” he said.

      “Along with about six hundred other people. Between her church work and her community work, many people loved her. It was the most crowded funeral I’ve ever seen.” Carly faced him again, her eyes still bright with tears.

      “I didn’t see you.”

      “Were you looking for me?” She didn’t know what point he was trying to make, and maybe he didn’t, either. She had seen him at the funeral, from a distance, but had avoided him. She couldn’t face talking to him, and she definitely hadn’t wanted to talk to his father. She had made it a point to slip in as the service started and sit in the back, one of the few seats left, and grieve on her own.

      When Luke didn’t respond, she went on. “I only stayed for the service then I came home. I had produce to pick and deliver.”

      Luke glanced around, seeming to notice the gardens for the first time, along with the loaded bed of the pickup. His attention lingered on the greenhouses, then on the rows of carrots and beets in the small field. “This is beautiful, Carly. Prosperous. Do you have any help?”

      “Some. Mostly high school kids who may or may not be dependable. If I need to, I can manage on my own.”

      Eager to be finished with this awkward encounter, she reached out, ready to pull the