Laurel Blount - Hometown Hope

Anna looked unhappy, but she shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Hoyt, but there’s nothing I can do. Trust me, I’ve already tried everything to keep the store going. A blue-collar town like Pine Valley just isn’t capable of supporting an independent bookstore.”

“Your father seemed to do all right.”

Anna’s eyes flashed. He must have touched a nerve there. “My father devoted most of a good retirement pension and all his savings to keeping Pages afloat. What assets he left had to be sold off to pay his medical bills. There’s no money to subsidize the bookstore now.”

“Look, I get it. When I inherited Bradley Builders from my own dad, it was circling the drain. But I built it back up, and it more than pays its way now.” He leaned forward, holding her eyes with his own, willing her to believe him. “Maybe I could help you do the same thing with your place.”

“You run a construction business, though. It’s totally different, don’t you think?”

Now it was Hoyt’s turn to feel irritated. “I think business is business, Anna.”

She studied him, her dark brows pulled together thoughtfully. “Where did you learn what to do to save your father’s company? You never took any business classes back in high school. Did you go to night classes over at Fairmont Technical?”

Hoyt could see where this was going...the same direction things always went with Anna Delaney. Schooling. Books. Classrooms. Those were the only things she’d ever put much stock in.

“I learned on the job, by making mistakes and then having to figure out how to fix them.” He could see her drawing back. His desperation made him reckless, and he pushed harder. “It’s the best way to learn anything, if you ask me. Way better than reading some book.”

He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth. You never insulted books in front of a Delaney. Anna’s frown darkened, and he hurried on. “Look, things may not even be that bad. I talked to Trisha, and from what she said, your main issue seems to be that you’ve got no reach. You’re basically selling to the same few people over and over again. You need to work on reconnecting with your customer base.”

“You talked to Trisha Saunders about me?”

From the tone in Anna’s voice, he was guessing he’d made another wrong step somewhere. This conversation was like walking through a minefield blindfolded. “Well, yeah. She owns the business right next door, so I knew she’d have a handle on how well the location works for foot traffic. And last night Jess said something about Trish wanting to close the bookstore. So, sure. I went and talked to her to get a feel for why you’re having problems.”

“I see.” Anna set down her fork with a clink. She took her paper napkin out of her lap and refolded it beside her plate. “And did Trish offer you some valuable critiques about my business practices?”

Mainly what Trisha had offered were more of those flirty smiles she’d been aiming in his direction since Marylee died and a few snarky digs about the run-down condition of Anna’s building. Hoyt had pieced together the rest of it on his own.

Probably not the best idea to go into any of that with Anna right now.

“My point is there’s plenty you can do to bring in some more business, even without a lot of money to invest. Maybe you’ll have to get a little more creative, but if you do some cross-promotions with other local business owners—”

Anna shook her head. “Look, Hoyt, I appreciate the offer, and I understand that you want to do whatever it takes to keep Jess talking. I do. But making the decision to close my father’s bookstore wasn’t something I did lightly. There’s nothing that can be done at this point.”

His frustration level bobbed upward. She wasn’t listening to him, and he thought he knew why. “Nothing that can be done? Or nothing I can do?”

Anna sighed. “It’s the same thing, Hoyt. Although, believe me, I do appreciate the fact that you, of all people, are trying to save a bookstore.”

You. Of all people.

Something about that wry remark hit him a little too hard, and before he thought better of it, he hit back.

“Maybe I’m not much on books, Anna, but I’m turning down construction jobs right now. Trish Saunders didn’t go to college, either, but that flower shop she started on a shoestring seems to be doing all right, too. Believe it or not, out here in the real world people learn some pretty useful things outside of a classroom. If you’d ever pulled your nose out of a book long enough, you might have figured that out already.”

Anna’s cheeks had turned fire-engine red. She stood. “I think we’re done here.”

Reading faces was another survival skill Hoyt had learned from dealing with his dad, so he knew there wasn’t much point in trying to smooth things over. But he was desperate, so he took a shot anyway, as she turned and headed for the door.

“Anna, I’m sorry. Please wait.”

For a second she hesitated, just long enough to get his hopes up. But then she squared her shoulders and went out the door.

* * *

Later, after putting Jess to bed, Hoyt sat on his back deck, listening to the chirring of the frogs down by the pond. He’d had more than his share of sleepless nights during the last few years, and he could tell he was gearing up for another one.

After all his careful planning, he’d blown things with Anna because he hadn’t been able to keep a lid on his temper.

Delaney hadn’t meant anything by that little jab. She’d just been cracking wise with him, the way they always did. It wasn’t her fault she’d hit him on a sore spot. He shouldn’t have overreacted.

His restless mind dredged up an uncomfortable memory. One afternoon in the heat of a pickup basketball game, a classmate had elbowed him in the ribs. Nothing new about that, but this time the blow just happened to land right where his father had slammed him the night before, when Hoyt had wedged himself in front of his cowering mother. Agony had exploded, and without even thinking about it, Hoyt had rammed the backside of his forearm into the other player’s nose.

It had been nothing but a reflex on Hoyt’s part, but the guy’s nose bled all over the gym floor just the same as if Hoyt had set out to break it.

The incident had taught him a lesson. You couldn’t allow your pain to splash over onto other people. It wasn’t right.

He should have let Anna’s little dig pass.

His cell phone buzzed, vibrating itself across the wooden table beside his rocking chair. He snatched it up and read the name on the screen. Dr. Amanda Mills. It was the call he’d been waiting for.

“Dr. Mills, thanks for getting back to me. I’m really sorry to bug you. I know you’re busy taking care of your mom. How’s she doing?”

“The doctors are still running tests. We don’t know much yet, except that she’s had a massive stroke. And you can call me about Jess anytime, Hoyt. You know that.” He did. The gray-haired pediatric therapist had been an answer to prayer.

He didn’t want to waste her time, so he jumped right to the purpose of his call. “Jess is still talking only to me.” He’d quizzed Bailey when she and Jess had returned from their pizza date, but no dice. According to Bailey, Jess had seemed content, and she’d eaten her weight in pizza, but she hadn’t said a word. “What do you think that means?”

“Maybe nothing. Jess has always been on her own timetable. Most children with selective mutism start talking again in a matter of months, but Jess held out on us for years. This may run the same way. When she’s good and ready, she’ll talk to somebody else, and her social interactions will expand from there.”