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Hattie was free and safe, once and for all. No hiding. No secrets.
And no Duncan.
She’d not heard a word from him in the three weeks since her birthday. She’d spoken with his parents, aunt and uncle, and his siblings. But no one had heard from Duncan. She could only assume he was locked away in his studio. She hadn’t had the courage to drive over and knock on his door.
The two weeks she’d taken off from work to hide from reporters had almost driven her crazy. Fortunately, the O’Hara women had come to her rescue. Simone had brought over a box of her famous recipes and Hattie had learned how to make piecrust and meat loaf. She’d felt very accomplished considering she’d grown up with a personal chef and had never learned to cook anything other than takeout.
Raven had also stopped by, bringing by several new things that had just come into her boutique, and Anne and Dylan had come by soon after for an impromptu fashion show and a sampling of Simone’s desserts.
But once her two weeks was up, and she still hadn’t heard from Duncan, she decided the best course of action was to throw herself into her work at the store. She’d stay until late in the evening and go home exhausted, falling into bed only to wake up and do it again the next day. It almost kept her from thinking about Duncan.
Her office was on the second floor of the store, and she could look down through the wall of windows onto the lower level. It was closing time, but there were still a lot of customers browsing the shelves, making last-minute purchases for whatever adventure they had planned the following day.
She’d been staring out the window for a while, her brain full of reports and projections. She was already purchasing for fall, and it felt good to know that she would still be in Laurel Valley. She’d eventually have to leave her job at the sporting goods store, but there was no reason she couldn’t move the headquarters of her father’s company to Laurel Valley. This was her home now, whether Duncan ever spoke to her again or not.
Her assistant manager was set to close, so she put on her down coat, wrapped her scarf expertly around her neck, and pulled on her lambskin-lined gloves. She’d learned quickly that the cold in Laurel Valley was nothing like a New York winter. She picked up her briefcase and headed down the stairs.
“Burning the midnight oil again,” Toby said, ringing up a customer.
“The next season will be here before we know it,” Hattie said.
“If it means we’ll get a break from this snow then I’m all for it,” he said.
Hattie laughed. “Bite your tongue. This snow is why we’ve had such a good quarter. Have a good night.”
She waved goodbye and stepped out into the cold, automatically searching the parking lot for any reporters or those who shouldn’t be hanging around. Downtown Laurel Valley was full of cars, and she looked across the street to see The Lampstand full of people. Live music played from the bar down the street and there were shrieks of laughter coming from the skating rink as people went round and round.
They were good sounds, and she smiled as she made her way to her SUV. About halfway home, it started to snow again. Big, fat flakes that fell softly on her windshield. The plows had already been out and were working overtime, keeping the streets clear, and once she drove onto O’Hara land she noticed that Mick had been out too, keeping each of the narrow roads that led to a different family member’s land clear.
When she got to the tree that sat between the fork in the road, she stopped the car. She should take the right fork in the road. That was the road that led to home and a warm bed. She chewed on her bottom lip and gripped the wheel. And then threw caution to the wind and veered left toward Duncan’s house.
* * *
Duncan had been sitting on her back porch for what seemed like hours. It didn’t matter. He’d wait there until she came home.
He’d tried to stay away. Had needed to so he could get his thoughts in order. But he couldn’t wait any longer. Hehadto see her. Had to talk to her.
He’d caught the news from time to time over the last weeks and had watched Hattie’s story unfold. He knew his family was keeping a close watch over her, and Atticus had hired extra security for the area, keeping Hattie unaware of the added protection. In his opinion, prison was too good for Derek Bancroft. And from the looks of things, he was going to be in prison for a very, very long time.
His heart had broken for Hattie, hearing what she’d endured and the strength with which she’d carried such a burden. It reminded him even more of the warrior he’d painted. He could understand the choices she and Atticus both made. There was no one at fault except for the criminals behind it all. But that still didn’t change the fact that she belonged to another man. And no matter how much he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her, that fact would always lie between them until it was settled. After the horrific experience of her first marriage, Hattie might not even want to get married again.
Those were realizations and emotions he had to deal with. And the only way he knew how to deal with the anger and grief inside of him was to paint. He painted for days without stopping for sleep or food. He painted as if his life depended on it. What he created on canvas was alive and raw, violent colors and motions that ebbed and flowed like the tide.
And when he’d gotten his anger out, he’d fallen into fitful sleeps for days. But he’d still dreamed—always of her. He thought he’d go mad with it, and he laughed to himself as he thought of how stereotypical he’d become as a creative personality. He didn’t drink or chain-smoke as other artists did, but when he wasn’t painting he’d thrown himself into backbreaking labor around his property—cutting firewood and keeping the roads plowed so Hattie could get to and from work easily.
But whether it was painting, sleeping, or working himself into exhaustion, the only thing that remained was his love for her. Nothing was going to change that. But that meant loving her enough to listen to her heart, even if that meant she didn’t want marriage and a family. Only she’d have to accept that he couldn’t do it any other way. In his family, marriage meant something. And it was meant to last through all the seasons of life—good and bad.
Once he’d come to that realization and peace settled over him, he went back up to his studio and started to paint again. This time from the sketches on his table. And he’d been right. It was the best work he’d ever done. And it all belonged to her.
He’d finished a watercolor of her—from the first time she’d sat for him on the porch swing—and he loved that it was such a contrast to the warrior portrait. The colors were soft and muted and the sunlight played behind her, accentuating the delicate curls that had slipped out of the knot at the base of her neck. Her head was tilted down, but her eyes were on him, sneaking a peek of him while she thought he was absorbed in his drawing. And in that gaze was her heart—full of love for him.
He wrapped up the painting, told Winston goodbye, and then drove over to her house. Where he’d been waiting ever since. He checked his watch again, starting to worry, and then he called the store and Toby told him she’d just left.
He let out a sigh of relief and settled back in the porch swing.
* * *
When Hattie found Duncan’s house empty except for Winston, she wasn’t deterred. His truck was gone and only the kitchen light was on. So he went out. No big deal. Maybe he was visiting his parents. Or maybe he was downtown. Though Duncan hated crowds and tourist season, so that option seemed unlikely.
