The Little Things

The Little Things

M. Jean Pike

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Little Things

COPYRIGHT 2023 by M. Jean Pike

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Contact Information: [email protected]

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Scripture quotations, marked KJV are taken from the King James translation, public domain. Scripture quotations marked DR, are taken from the Douay Rheims translation, public domain.

Scripture texts marked NAB are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition Copyright 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

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White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2023

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0391-6

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Sue S, my sister in Christ, who helped me find my way. And for Doreen J, whose door was always open and the coffee, always on. The little things meant so much!

What People are Saying about M. Jean Pike

M. Jean Pike is an amazing author. Her stories are magical, emotional and romantic. I could read them over and over. …I highly recommend. It is a rare thing to find an author who knows how to reach out to her readers and draw them into the story. …

Simply Romance Reviews

Don’t you just love it when a story pulls you in right from the beginning? That’s definitely this one. Stories like Heatherfield are rare gems and I loved it from beginning to end. The plot is wonderfully interesting and the pacing of it is really well done. Absolutely a must read!

Manic Readers.

1

Rochelle could’ve cried over the condition of Bessie’s flower beds. By mid-April, the daffodils and the Rembrandt tulips should have been in peak bloom, a dazzling display of red and gold that made people drive around the block for a second look. Now they were suffocating under years’ worth of decaying leaves and crab grass.

The house hadn’t fared any better. Crumbling bricks flanked the wide front steps and came to rest on tottering porch spindles, leaning against each other like drunken soldiers. Nine years had taken its toll, in more ways than one.

The HVAC is acting up, Austin said, coaxing a key into the lock. But if the weather holds, you should be fine here for a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks?

You didn’t mention your plans, but I’m sure you won’t want to stay longer than that. Glamorous California obviously has a greater pull than Ohio and your family.

She hadn’t planned anything beyond today and the sanctuary of her beloved Bessie’s home.

Actually, I can’t imagine why you’d choose to return now.

She glanced at her brother and saw a hundred unspoken words in his expression. Saw what had seethed just beneath the surface of their awkward hug at the bus station and filled the uncomfortable silence ever since.

After a few moments of persuasion, the key turned, the door groaned open, and she followed him inside. The air smelled like mildew and sickness, accentuated by the murky darkness. An aged bulldog sat in the kitchen doorway. His cloudy eyes looked past them expectantly. Seeing no one else, he turned and slunk back to the kitchen.

That’s Gus, Austin said. He’ll need some taking care of.

Is he wearing a diaper?

He has bladder issues. There’s a bag of pads on the table. You’ll need to change him every few hours.

Great. I didn’t know Bessie had a dog.

He shot her a furious glance. Her baby brother would never forgive her for going away.

We got him for her when she first got diagnosed. Kat read an article about how dogs promote health and wellness, or some such thing. He shrugged. It was worth a try.

Rochelle flipped the switch beside the door. Dim light pooled into the room, accompanied by the clatter of the ceiling fan. A dark stain spread from its center. She moved past her brother and tugged on the window until it grudgingly opened and filled her lungs with cool, fresh air. The back garden was unkempt, the gutter on Bessie’s garden shed flapped in the breeze. A pair of black rubber boots waited patiently in the weeds beside the door.

I had an appointment last week. They tell me the cancer’s back, but don’t you worry about it, darling girl. One way or another I’ll be just fine. God will be by my side, just as He’s always been…

The sadness was more than Rochelle could bear, and tears clogged her throat. She turned to face her brother. Thanks for picking me up.

No problem. Do you need anything before I go?

Does the dog have plenty of food?

There should be a bag on the table. Kat was here this morning, so he’s all set for today. He hasn’t been eating much lately.

She moved to the kitchen, picked up the bag of dog food, and shook it. Almost half full. Gus looked at her hopefully, so she refilled his dish. Retrieving his water bowl, she carried it to the sink. When she turned on the tap, the faucet escaped its fitting and crashed into the sink. An icy blast of water shot out, spraying her face and sopping the front of her shirt.

Good grief! She turned off the tap and groped for the red-checkered dish towel beside the sink. As she swiped at her hair and face, the emotions she could no longer suppress came pouring out. The sadness, the fear, and the overwhelming stress of the past six days. This place is falling apart, Austin. How did it get like this?

Do you really want to go there with me, Rochelle?

His tone caused her to look up. He was deadly calm on the outside, but clearly furious within.

No, no, no! This wasn’t the way she meant for it to go, all of this anger and bitterness. Not when so much time had already been lost.

When he’d picked her up at the bus station, she’d barely recognized him. She’d left home at twenty-one, when he was just a boy of sixteen. Today he stood before her, a man of twenty-five. So handsome in his suit and tie, so capable, her baby brother, a police detective, a husband, and soon to be a father. He was angry with her for going away, but it wasn’t a crime to want more than a life of potluck suppers and Friday night football games. More than what the small town of Redford’s Crossing had to offer. She’d meant to sit down with him over a cup of coffee and explain it to him. She hadn’t meant for it to go like this at all. Look, I didn’t mean—

Who do you think pumped out the cellar the last time it rained? Who do you think patched the roof and cut the lawn and took the dog to the vet? Who do you think took Bessie to the grocery store, the doctor’s appointments, and the beauty shop for the past two years when she wasn’t able to drive anymore? All that on top of keeping up my own house while putting in almost sixty hours a week at the station. So you’ll have to excuse me if this place isn’t quite up to your standards.

Austin, I’m sorry.

But he wasn’t finished. He’d barely begun.

And when she got too sick to stay here alone, he roared, "it was my wife, my pregnant wife, who came over every single day and took care of your foster mother while you were living it up out there in la-la land!"

His words crashed against her like a slap across the face. They were excruciating. They stole her breath. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t some glamorous life. It was…a hard life.

If it was so hard then why didn’t you come home?

It… Her voice broke. It wasn’t that easy.

Yeah, it never is with you, is it?

Gus growled low in his throat.

A quiet cough from behind made them both turn.

A man stood in the kitchen doorway, a very large man, his broad shoulders filling the entire space. He wore a faded, blue denim shirt, and a pair of well-worn jeans, a working man’s clothes. His hair was close cropped and blond, tidy except for an unruly cowlick in the front and even in the dim light Rochelle could see that his eyes were a startling shade of blue.

I saw the car in the driveway, he said. Is this a bad time?

Austin recovered quickly. Oh, hey, Sandy. No, not at all. I’m on my way back to the station, but my sister will be here. Go ahead and look around. I’ll give you a call later.

Look around?

He moved aside.

Austin slid past him and disappeared. When the front door thudded closed behind him, Ro turned her gaze back to the man. I’m sorry you had to witness that.

He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. I know how it is. I have a brother.

He stood there, staring at her, as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he said, You’re Rochelle, right?

She searched his face, clearly at a disadvantage. Yes.

Sandy Fairbrother. Maybe you don’t remember me.

She vaguely remembered the name. Her gaze moved over him, her mind trying to reconcile this big, handsome man with the thin, quiet boy she barely remembered from high school. Nice enough looking, but not gorgeous. Athletic enough to be on the sports teams, football, she thought, but not first string. Just an average boy. Of course, she said.

So, you’re back.

The prodigal daughter returns.

I’m sorry for your loss. Bess was a wonderful woman.

Thank you. An awkward moment of silence passed. May I ask what you’re doing here?

Austin mentioned that he assumed Bess left the house to the two of you in her will. He said he was hoping to unload it quickly and wondered if I’d be interested in buying it.

The shock of his words was like second slap. No, more like a throat punch. Why would you be?

I own a few rental properties around town, as well as a small construction company. I do renovations, buy and flip homes, that sort of thing. I told Austin I’d be happy to take a look at the place.

His words spun around inside her head, making her dizzy. The one place in the world where she felt safe was in danger of being sold? Torn away from her? Fear slithered inside her stomach and rose up the back of her throat as her last hope of security slipped away. Oh, Lord. Don’t let me be sick. Pulling in a breath to calm herself, she tossed the checkered dishcloth into the sink. Austin really should have discussed this with me first, before talking to you. We haven’t made any definite plans for the house yet.

Right. Well, I just thought—

You thought what? She fixed him with an angry stare. My foster mother is barely laid to rest, and you come swooping in here to take advantage of us for the opportunity to feather your own nest?

He seemed momentarily taken aback. Then he grinned, infuriating her farther. "I wouldn’t exactly say I swooped. I walked in through the front door. After your brother invited me."

Well I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time. Until further notice, this house is not for sale. Understood?

He watched her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Amusement, definitely, but something else as well.

Understood.

~*~

It took all the self-control Sandy had not to stalk back to his truck. In case she was watching from the window, he attempted a swagger. He slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and drove away, hoping he appeared calmer than he felt. What on earth was her problem? And for that matter, what was his?

She was tiny, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, which at the moment she was, but she still had the power to make him feel small.

No, not small. Insignificant.

Then why didn’t you come home?

It wasn’t that easy…

Maybe she was annoyed that he’d overheard. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on her conversation with Austin. He should have called ahead and set up an appointment to look at the house, but word traveled pretty fast around town that Rochelle Delany was coming back to Redford’s Crossing to help settle Bess’ house and estate. If he were honest, he’d admit he’d stopped by unannounced hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Which had worked out just fabulously.

Still, Austin’s question was one that had been on the lips of half the town. Why hadn’t Rochelle come home before now? Nearly a decade of Christmases, homecomings, and other special occasions had come and gone with no sign of her. When Bess’ cancer returned, people thought surely Rochelle would come home, take care of her, as she had before.

Sandy frowned. She hadn’t even been there for the funeral. Bess didn’t deserve that, after all she’d done for Rochelle and Austin. Was her life in California that all fired important and glamorous that she couldn’t tear herself away a few days earlier to say goodbye to the woman who’d raised her?

Rochelle was still beautiful–as lovely a woman as she’d been a girl. Still every bit as exotic, with her long black hair, her dark eyes, and those full, red lips. She still stole his breath away, just as she had in high school. But somehow, the sparkle was gone from those beautiful brown eyes. She seemed weary, as if life had used her up.

Still full of fight, though, obviously.

Two short honks shattered his thoughts, and he moved through the green light with an apologetic wave to Mary Maxwell in the burgundy sedan behind him.

Rochelle Delany, after all these years.

What was her reason for wanting to hold onto the house? He would have loved to buy the solid little craftsman on Orchard Drive. With some work, it could be renovated and flipped and he could make a nice profit. Austin had made it sound as if Sandy would be doing them a favor to take it, so what was the problem? Why had Rochelle marched him out the door like that? Surely, she wasn’t planning to keep it, to move back to Redford’s Crossing permanently, and live in it. His heartbeat quickened at the thought. She’d been gone for such a long time. He’d missed her more than he had any reason to, except…

He was sure she didn’t even remember the kiss. It was an insane, impulsive moment that meant nothing to a popular cheerleader. But to a lonely boy, it meant everything. It was his first kiss, and he’d never forgotten it.

~*~

Later that evening, Rochelle was ashamed of the way she’d acted. She’d been humiliated to discover someone had overheard Austin’s accusations and had reacted in anger. Sandy Fairbrother seemed like a decent man, and he’d seemed genuinely happy to see her. It wasn’t his fault her foolish choices had left her in this precarious position. Nor was it Austin’s. Her brother had probably assumed she would be glad he’d taken the