Amanda

AMANDA

By: Sandra McGregor

Copyright 2014 Sandra McGregor

Smashwords Edition

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Thank you

Dedicated to those who have loved, lost and are strong enough to start over.

May you find perfect happiness.

Chapter One

The light autumn breeze lifted a few remaining leaves, sending them tumbling toward the neighbor’s pristine lawn like a Trick-or-Treater going house-to-house—in a hurry without regard to property lines. Amanda stood on the porch of The Templeton House, her ancestral home, balanced on the balls of her feet as she leaned to the right and then the left to stretch and warm her neglected muscles.

After a couple of gentle lunge stretches, she jogged down the steps toward the ornate, iron gate flanked by two tall, square, brick columns. As a child, and fearful of what her future held, she had seen the columns as sentinels standing watch over the large sloping lawn where she’d sit under the ancient Magnolia to read or just be alone. She had always loved how vines cascaded down the bricks and along the fence, obscuring the view of the yard from anyone passing by on Danbury Lane.

Despite the fact that the gate usually remained open, as if offering an invitation for folks to drop in and sit a spell, it had served as a barrier to what lurked outside…and she felt safer.

One hand reached to brush the ivy back from the Sweetwater Historical Society’s sign mounted on one of the columns. She knew every word cast on the bronze marker, but it always made her proud to know her ancestors had planted roots in the small Georgia town almost two hundred years earlier.

Amanda smiled as she started down the sidewalk at a gentle jog. As if it were just yesterday, she remembered telling Grandma Templeton how she thought the older woman should have been a history teacher. Grandma Te had the ability to tell stories of a bygone era that brought Sweetwater and the people to life.

Always a sucker for romance, her favorite story had been how her great-great-grandfather Templeton had built the house for his new bride as a wedding present. That was years before the Civil War—when Danbury Lane was a packed-dirt street more suited to horses and wagons. Do men still exist who treat women like my ancestors had treated their women? Doubt tightened her lips and shoulders.

That faceless ancestor had built the majestic columned mansion on the knoll, overlooking hundreds of acres once owned by the Templeton family. Of course, that was before General Sherman marched his Union troops through Georgia in 1864, destroying the railroad and burning a few plantations and all of the factories. As the story went, that’s when a lot of the Templeton family fortune went up in smoke.

But, according to Grandma Te’s family story, there was a bright side to the horror and destruction of the war. General Sherman and some of his officers had slept at Templeton House for a short period of time, and despite a lot of the crops being confiscated or destroyed, the home was spared the indignity of total ruin. The once-stately antebellum home now sits on just over an acre of landscaped grounds—grounds she felt were in desperate need of a good gardener to bring back their former glory.

Her long ponytail swished from side to side as she ran, as if erasing thoughts of the injustices of the Civil War and the wanton destruction of lives and property. What had happened back then was past and nothing could change it. It no longer mattered…much. Besides, she and her two siblings were fortunate… We still have our home, she muttered, lengthening her stride in hopes of working out the slight tug in her calves.

The next house on the street blocked the sun and cast a wide shadow across the sidewalk. It chilled her skin, taking her thoughts away from her ancestors long enough to remind her of the long-sleeved shirt still lying on her bed back at the house.

She increased her pace. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she crossed over to Humboldt Street. Her stride lengthened now that she had given her muscles a chance to ease into the demands she was making on them.

Nothing had changed in the ten years since she left the sleepy little town of Sweetwater to move north for college…well, except for… No! She slammed up a mental roadblock. Nothing is going to ruin my run.

Instead, she redirected her thoughts to the birds vying with each other to wake any late-risers. Small towns had, at least in her opinion, few advantages, but the majestic trees that lined the street, along with the manicured lawns and flowerbeds, definitely beat the flower boxes at the windows of her townhouse in Philadelphia or the potted herbs that provided a bit of greenery on her miniscule balcony.

She passed two more houses before reaching the next corner where she turned right onto Poplar Street. Adding a kick to her stride, she increased her pace along the sparsely populated avenue. A canopy of trees stretched from both sides to meet in the middle to shade and protect the street below. The stress of the past four days dropped from her shoulders…leaving her feeling energized and more capable of facing whatever the future held.

It felt good to breathe deeply without coughing on car exhaust fumes. She had to smile as she thought back to the co-worker who guilt-tripped her into training for, and then participating in, a three-point-two-mile race for charity. No one had been more surprised than herself when she caught the running bug. Now, three years later, she was a regular in the parks and along the sidewalks of Philadelphia, joining others who ran for health, for training, or just for fun.

Just ahead was Sweetwater Square—a Garden of Eden-type park with sidewalks that meandered among the Maples and the drooping limbs of the Magnolias. Four streets bordered the park to criss-crossed like a tick-tack-toe square, with various shops and family-owned restaurants fronting onto the streets like a collage frame.

Up ahead, on the far side of the street, a two-story, brick building still sported a fifty-something-year-old Coke advertisement. Even though the ad was painted directly on the bricks and had faded over the decades, the huge Coke bottle was still recognizable. Some things never change.

Caught up in her musing, the toot of a vehicle’s horn jerked her thoughts and her gaze from the used-brick wall. The young man behind the wheel of the older-model van held up a hand, giving her a flirtatious wave as he drove slowly past, rolling to a stop half a block in front of her at the intersection’s red light. Her pace slowed at the same time a quick request winged heavenward—a request that the driver was on a very tight schedule and would continue on his way before she reached the corner.

Amid the metal-on-metal screech of grinding gears, the vehicle lurched forward before it lumbered around the corner at the next intersection to disappear beyond a bend in the road as he headed in the direction of Interstate-75.

She glanced toward the cloudless sky, offering a silent thank you as she rounded the corner to jog along the row of shops.

Uph!

Before Amanda could draw a breath, she was sitting on the sidewalk, her running shorts hiked up and her hands palm-down on the cement. Her hard landing left her in a less than lady-like pose and momentarily speechless.

Her ponytail brushed against her back as she lifted her chin up, and up further, until her gaze connected with the dark, guarded depths belonging to the man she had successfully avoided since her arrival back in town. James Hudson.

He stood like a brick wall—a wall with a broad chest and thick, dark-brown hair. Deep-set eyes, like the eddies on Lake Dow, stared down, telling her nothing, but dredging up ten years of confusion, hurt and betrayal.

Hi, Mandy.

Deeper and more mature, his voice washed over her, gently caressing each nerve and bringing back an unwanted reminder of stolen hours at Lookout Point—a time and place when words had not been necessary. In high school, he had been the object of her dreams—now he was Sweetwater’s new Chief of Police.

Are you hurt? His arm extended, reaching down to offer her assistance.

In a reflex motion that she immediately regretted, she reached up and grasped his outstretched hand. A surge of heat and power penetrated her palm, sending a tingle across her skin and opening the floodgate of memories that she thought had been buried years earlier—memories she tried to quickly shove back into their proper place.

Once on her feet, she quickly slid her hand from his, resisting the urge to wipe her palm down the front of her shorts. In the distant past, an era reserved for crushes on the high school quarterback and after-game gatherings at the local fast-food drive-in, his height and strength had made her feel protected and cherished. Now it just left her feeling at a disadvantage.

Maybe I should speak with the city council about putting up some of those round mirrors to help pedestrians see around the corners of the buildings, he said, his eyes holding her hostage while his arm slowly relaxed back to his side. I’d hate to see you—or anyone else, injured.

She tore her gaze from his for a quick glance down the almost-deserted sidewalk. Nothing happened in town that someone didn’t notice and report. And usually embellish. Thankfully, most of the shops wouldn’t open for another two hours. She sent up a silent prayer that she and James would dodge being the newest topic for the small-town gossips, but she knew she was asking a lot.

Amanda? He tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly as he moved into her line of sight. Are you all right?

Of course. I’m fine, she told him, irritated that her self-confidence had again deserted her when she needed it the most. She had rehearsed what she’d say if…or when, she met him again, but the carefully chosen words seemed to have evaporated like a morning mist on a summer day. Her blistering speech and demanding questions had deserted her…just as he once had.

Well, um, I’ve got to be going. I’ll see you around. She tossed the words over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

A tanned hand shot out to halt her escape—strong, yet surprisingly gentle fingers wrapped around her arm, just above the wrist. To avoid making a scene…and a complete fool of herself, she was left with no choice but to turn back.

Mandy, I…um, I’m sorry about your father.

His frown deepened and his intense stare implied sincerity, but she no longer knew if she could trust her judgment where he was concerned. She refocused on the snow-white triangle of cotton exposed at his throat. Thank you. She hated the soft, whispered words. Where was her backbone?

Growing up as the former police chief’s daughter had been tough. Her father had been stern and cold, working around the clock and seeming to purposely keep plenty of distance between him and his three children. Despite her grandmother’s constant love and support, her father’s rejection had left her feeling empty and lost, in the way and unloved. Then James had walked into her life and given her the love she had been missing—until the day, years ago, when he walked out of her life without a backward glance. Forget it. Move on.

You know, I’m wondering something, she said, squinting as she looked up into his face. Why did you come to the funeral since it’s no secret that you hated my father?

She waited for his answer, knowing that she and most of the older citizens of the town were aware that the former police chief and a younger, more rebellious James Hudson had stood on opposite sides of most issues.

He released a noisy sigh, glancing toward the street. With nothing to hold his attention, his gaze shifted back to meet hers. ’Hate’ is a strong word. His focus seemed to turn inward for a moment before he continued. I’ll admit I didn’t like him…grew to not trust him. Guess I came to the funeral out of respect for the office he held—and out of respect for you and your family. There was some heat behind his words that bordered on anger, but there was something else in his eyes...something she couldn't quite put her finger on. His held his anger in check.

She nodded, surprised at the emotions playing across his face. Anger, frustration…and finally...was it regret? The silence stretched. As the seconds ticked by, she watched his lips thin and his nostrils flare just before his eyes momentarily hardened. He blinked several times, took a deep breath and then visibly relaxed. Is this meeting as hard on him as it is on me?

He opened his mouth, but after a moment’s hesitation, he seemed to change his mind. His focus shifted to a point beyond her shoulder—or maybe he was looking back to a long-ago place and time. Then his gaze returned to her and she held her breath…waiting. When he spoke, his voice had lost it's edginess.

At one time I respected your father and would have done anything he told me. I would have climbed a mountain or swam an ocean…or at least I would have tired, he added with a smirk and a short, barked chuckle that ended abruptly. After several heartbeats, he continued. He changed after your mother passed. Losing her was hard on him.

She nodded. You’re right. That time was difficult for him. Her concession…and James’ continued silence…made her uncomfortable. Then it hit her…and it appalled her to realize she’d just given her father a reason…no, an excuse…to ignore his children and put the police force and the town ahead of family. In fact, my mother’s death was hard on all of us, she amended, forcing herself to maintain eye contact and not allow the tears that hovered so close whenever her mother was mentioned.

The moment passed, leaving her to face the fact that she was standing in the middle of town, talking politely to the man who owed her an apology…and an explanation. What was wrong with her? But not now…not here where people could watch and report their version. Retreat to fight another day. She took an involuntary step backward before she caught herself. I…um, I really have to … she hesitated.

Run?

A chuckle rumbled up from deep inside his chest, reminding her of a younger boy, the one who stole her heart the first time she heard him laugh from the booth behind her at the local diner one Friday night after a football game. Then when he’d spoken to her….

Amanda? He was leaning toward her, a slight frown scrunching his brows together.

Her cheeks warmed slightly at his casual, yet obvious attempt to ease the tension between them. It also reminded her that she was standing in front of him in a brief, running outfit of high-legged shorts and a thin, matching tank top. Um, yes. Running. Um, I’m getting in shape for the Marine Marathon. She cringed. She was stammering like a high-school freshman talking to the football quarterback. And what possessed her to share that last tidbit was beyond her. He didn’t care what she did with her time and besides, it was none of his business. Excuse me, gotta go.

She pivoted and jogged back the way she had come. As strong as the pull was to glance over her shoulder to see if he was watching, she’d rather touch a spider than have him know she was curious. Or, heaven forbid, have him think she wanted another look at him. Over my dead body, she muttered, picking up her pace.

Her breaths were coming faster as her mind ignored her silent order to forget the past. Forgive and forget. But how could she forget their whispered words of devotion or his promise to love her forever? Or his betrayal?

We were young. And stupid. She rolled her eyes. That was back when she still thought eloping was romantic and couples could weather any storm as long as they were together. Naive, she mumbled as she darted down an alley and lengthened her stride. The years had banished her dreams of happily-ever-after. Besides, the last thing I need is a man…any man…in my life when I’m considering a career change and dealing with all the legal issues of Dad’s estate. Especially a man I can’t trust.

At the next corner, she challenged the blinking, Don’t Walk, sign and darted across the street and down another alley that ran behind the stores that fronted onto Sweetwater Square. It was entirely his fault that she was cutting short her normal four miles to take the fastest route home. Wasn’t it? Two blocks later she admitted the truth. The blame rested heavily on her shoulders. As with the Southern rebels during the Civil War, retreat left a bitter taste in her mouth.

****

James watched her jog away. Amanda Templeton. She hadn’t changed much—she was still easily the most beautiful girl in Sweetwater, even without makeup as she was today. The old saying about the eyes being the windows to the soul was definitely appropriate in her case. He had always been able to read her thoughts just by looking into her huge blue eyes.

A deep sigh slipped out as he replayed their conversation through his mind. He was an idiot. She’d been within reach and he’d let her leave without giving her the explanation he’d mentally rehearsed since knowing he was returning to Sweetwater. Not that he could have stopped her. His sources told him she’d become an attorney…and everyone knew how strong-willed lawyers were. Nope, he muttered, not a chance in the world she would have stuck around.

His glance shifted toward the window of the store beside him, but he barely noticed the display of wool skirts and slacks in Annette’s shop before he was again watching Amanda’s ponytail swish from side to side like a clock's pendulum as she put more distance between them.

Maybe I’ll just lock her up and then she’ll have to listen. Then he remembered his verbal brilliance only moments before. 'Maybe I should speak with the city council about pedestrian mirrors.' Sheesh. Was that the best topic of conversation he could come up with when he finally had her standing right in front of him? Yeah, Class-A idiot. He’d been looking for an opportunity ever since the funeral…had his speech down… Then I get the chance to talk with her and all I can think to talk about is safety mirrors? How inept could he be?

He stood watching as Amanda abruptly turned toward the alley. He figured he’d been in town less than six hours, barely long enough to move his belongings into the house he’d inherited from his father, before one of his former neighbors dropped by to welcome him back and to tell him that Amanda had never married. That information had jolted like a pilot-in-training landing.

His thoughts turned inward. He had known moving back to Georgia after so long would present challenges, but after his stepfather’s stroke, he needed to be closer and available to help his mother. It still surprised him how quickly things had happened. Was it only a month ago that one of his deputies told him about the upcoming vacancy for Chief of Police in Sweetwater?

At first he’d thought the deputy was joking. He couldn’t believe that Chief Templeton quit before reaching the age of forced retirement. He’d immediately submitted an application, but with his youthful reputation, he’d been surprised the counsel even considered it…and shocked when they offered him the job.

With Amanda now out of sight, he turned to face The Square. The movement of a squirrel scampering between trees caught his attention, but didn’t hold it.

His experience on the Bristow, Virginia police force that given him valuable experience and confidence that he was ready for more responsibility. He smiled to himself, remembering filling out the application and sending it to the mayor as instructed, even while mentally preparing himself for rejection. He’d been on duty when the phone rang, elbow deep in paperwork, when he’d been offered the position. He celebrated alone…with a mug of lukewarm coffee and without fanfare.

He stirred, realizing he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring into space. He turned and walked along under the awnings that fronted the shops. Yeah, being hired had been a huge surprise, but the real shock came two weeks after he took over the position. That call was to tell him that Jonathan Templeton had suffered a sudden, massive heart attack. In the snap of a finger, the man who had changed the course of his life was dead. His grand plan to mend fences with the man whom he had once respected had been stolen.

Well, it was too late to do anything about former Chief Templeton, but somehow he’d find a way…and the right time…to tell Amanda what had happened…even if she didn’t want to hear it. Would she believe him? Maybe not, but times had changed and there was no longer anyone to tell him he wasn’t