My Soul Loves

  My Soul Loves

  Hidden Creek Series #1

  By: Barbara Gee

  Copyright ©2017 by Barbara S. Gunden

  All rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Barbara Gunden, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Table of Contents

  My Soul Loves

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The road leading to Hidden Creek, Tennessee, meanders along the side of a mountain for several miles before sloping sharply downward, toward the valley that houses the town. When you’re still up on the high part, there’s a place where you all of a sudden emerge from the trees, and for a few seconds you can look right down on the town. If you aren’t watching for the opening, you’ll miss it, because the road curves away from the edge just as suddenly, back into the trees.

  As a child, I would wait eagerly for that incredible view, my forehead pressed against the car window in anticipation. That brief glimpse of Hidden Creek was the best thing. It meant I was almost to Grandma’s house—my favorite place in the world.

  The descent down the mountain starts soon after the trees swallow you back up. The road twists and turns all the way down, before finally clearing the forest and opening into a long, straight stretch that eventually becomes Main Street. It’s a beautiful drive, but definitely not a quick one. It doesn’t matter, though, because the destination is well worth the wait.

  I’m twenty-five now, and I’ve literally made this trip dozens of times, yet I still watch for that magical break in the trees. Because Hidden Creek is still my favorite place. My ultimate retreat. The place that holds my best childhood memories and some of my favorite people. It’s where I spent my summers as a child, and it’s the respite I long for when life gets complicated as an adult. A little time in Hidden Creek never fails to rejuvenate me, and when I leave there I’m ready to keep on keeping on—until the next time.

  Thankfully, the “next time” has come, and I’m once again on my way to my happy place.

  This time, however, it’s different.

  Chapter 1

  I rounded the last curve and hit the straight stretch of road into town, marveling at the fact that this trip wasn’t the usual week of escape before returning to my condo in the city.

  This was neither a summer vacation nor a temporary respite. This time I was in Hidden Creek to stay. It was going to be home.

  Even though the reality of my move still hadn’t totally sunk in, my packed-full car confirmed that I was about to become a bona fide citizen of the town.

  It was crazy but true. Today marked the start of a brand-new chapter in the life of Ava Ann Milton, and I was excited. Making this place my home was a big step, but I was confident it was also the right step. I was ‘ready to charge and up to the challenge,’ as my high school volleyball coach used to say.

  Mixed in with all that excitement, however, was a bone-deep sense of loss. Because me moving here permanently wasn’t the only difference this trip. It was also the first time I would be in Hidden Creek without my grandmother—the person who had always been the real draw to this place. The reason for making the five-hour drive several times a year.

  The beautiful soul who was now gone.

  Grandma. It was almost impossible for me to believe she wouldn’t be waiting for me at the end of my journey, and the closer I got to the town, the heavier my heart felt. I still hadn’t come to terms with losing the one person who had always been there for me. Who had lavished me with love and kindness my whole life, without expecting perfection in return. She’d loved me for who I was, not for what I accomplished. And she’d done it so well.

  I blew out a long breath and took a drink from my water bottle. I’d avoided thinking about Grandma during the entire drive because it wasn’t safe to cry and drive at the same time. Instead I’d concentrated on the move itself and all the good things that were going to come out of it, how excited I was to finally call Hidden Creek home.

  Things were getting real now, though. I was almost to town, and a few minutes after that, I’d be pulling up to a dark, quiet, deserted house. A house without Gwendolyn Milton waving to me from the front door, with a smile like sunshine and the smell of my favorite banana bread wafting out around her. A house without the woman who had always been my biggest fan.

  I hadn’t realized just how much I counted on her support, how comforting it was to know she was always rooting for me and praying for me, until she was gone.

  I blinked back tears as I approached the downtown strip. There was no more holding back the emotion. This was Grandma’s turf, and I couldn’t believe she was no longer here. Four months wasn’t nearly enough time to get used to that sad fact—maybe I’d never really get used to it. Yet here I was, heading right into the memories. Right to her house—the place that would hurt the most and feel the best all at the same time.

  In spite of the raw emotion, I was still confident I was doing the right thing. The very thing Grandma had wanted me to do. I’d face an empty house, yes, but it was also my house now. Grandma had left it to me, and in doing so, she had given me a whole new reason to come to Hidden Creek. This time to stay.

  I was moving here, to my new-old house, for two reasons. Because Grandma had made it possible, and because I wanted to. Simple as that. It wasn’t because I couldn’t afford to live anywhere else, or because I’d always had the desire to roll up my sleeves and modernize a fifty-year-old home as a DIY project. I also wasn’t moving here because I thought it would help me heal after losing Grandma—although I didn’t think it would hurt. We’d had some wonderful times in that house.

  No, I wanted to move here because it was a great little house in a great little town and I was more than a little ready to get out of the city. In fact, I’d started making plans as soon as I found out about Grandma’s will. Honestly, I’d felt like it was a sign that it was finally time to venture out on my own and leave the big city behind. It had never been my thing anyway.

  That was why I found myself driving my stuffed-to-the-gills SUV toward Hidden Creek, the picturesque town of fifteen hundred people in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, anticipating my new life in this place far from where I’d grown up—and about as different as it was possible for two places to be.

  ***

  I’ve lived my whole life—all twenty-five years of it—in Washington, DC. Well, not right in DC, but in a city right across the river, which
was almost as congested and, in many ways, even more hoity-toity. Lots of big houses and fancy cars, and not a lot of neighborliness most of the time.

  I don’t know why I never considered moving before. I work from home and can do that from any location, so getting away from big-city life has been feasible for a few years already. Yet I’d never given it any thought. I guess that was because, for all its annoyances, it was home. My family was there, and I’d never known anything different. I’d even bought my own condo three years ago, fully expecting to stay there long-term. Or at least until I met my dream man and we moved to the suburbs.

  Then Grandma died and left me her house, and everything had changed overnight. I knew without a doubt she’d hoped I would make her house my own, rather than sell it. Lucky for her, Hidden Creek had started calling my name from the minute the will was read. Good thing condos in my home city were easy to rent out.

  There was a downside to my decision, however. Neither my parents nor my two older sisters had taken the news well. They themselves would never in a million years consider moving away from their beloved city, and they all believed I was making a huge mistake. Of course, they’re all successful and wealthy and snobby, and they absolutely thrive where they’re at—big houses, classy dinner parties, high-powered jobs….all that “important” stuff they couldn’t live without.

  Then there’s me. The unexpected third child ten years younger than my next-oldest sister. The gal whose birth had thrown my obsessively organized plan-out-everything-to-the-nth-degree parents for a total loop.

  It was almost tragic. The carefully laid plans of Benson and Judith Milton had included two perfect children, starting two years after they got married, and spaced exactly two years apart. When that had been accomplished, right on schedule, the next thing to check off the list was a vasectomy.

  That, too, had been accomplished. Fortunately, for me at least, the master plan didn’t include regular checks to make sure my dad wasn’t one of the exceedingly rare cases where things “reconnect” years later.

  Turned out, he was indeed one of those rare cases. Which resulted in a surprise child and—possibly even worse—ruined my mother’s figure at the age of forty. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d heard her complain that her abs had never returned to their former tautness, even though she looked perfectly slim and flawless to me.

  It had been such a sore subject with her that I’d felt terribly guilty about it, but only until I’d learned where babies came from. Then I was done with that. The next time she broached the subject and sent the usual irritated glance my way, I’d calmly stated that if they hadn’t done that thing that let Daddy’s seed get into Mommy’s egg, her tummy would still be little.

  That was the last I heard about her less-than-satisfactory abs.

  Mom’s body issues aside, I was happy to say that once I was born, she and my dad came to accept my presence, disruptive as it was. They even loved me, in their formal, stilted way, which is a big relief considering I was everything my perfect sisters weren’t. Loud, energetic, playful, determined to do things my way instead of following “the plan.”

  It wasn’t easy for them. While my sisters, Ella and Audrey, played piano, excelled in debate clubs, and held student government positions, I insisted on playing sports and going to public school instead of the expensive private institutions my parents considered so important to the proper formation of the Milton daughters.

  I didn’t choose my own path because I wanted to rebel. I did it because I somehow knew, even at a young age, that I had to be true to myself. Conforming would have been the easy way out, but it wasn’t my way. And so, while my parents shook their heads and threw up their hands at my antics, and my sisters rolled their eyes dozens of times per day and locked me out of their rooms more often than not, I found my own way.

  So, yes, my parents loved me in their own way, despite my bewildering nonconformity, but no one loved me as fiercely as my paternal grandmother. From the beginning, Gwendolyn Milton recognized me as a child after her own heart. She’d never been much of a conformist, either, and the two of us shared a bond that couldn’t be denied. Therefore, it had seemed totally natural to everyone that I began spending summers with her from the age of eight on. By that time, my parents were busy with college and potential suitors for my sisters, and it was easier not to have a child underfoot. Plus, they knew I was with a great lady who loved me deeply and took wonderful care of me in her darling little house, in the equally darling little town of Hidden Creek, Tennessee.

  I’d spent seven entire summers there with Grandma, until I’d turned fifteen, gotten serious about volleyball, and started playing on summer travel teams. I’d continued to visit her at least three times a year, however, right up until she passed. I’d also helped her buy a smartphone and learn to text and Facetime, so it was easier to keep in touch. And I’d never ignored any message or call from her.

  I was so glad we stayed close, because she died totally unexpectedly from a stroke. There’d been no warning, no lingering illness. I still had to deal with the grief of losing her, but at least I didn’t have any guilt about not being present in her life.

  Yeah, I’d been a good granddaughter, but that was mostly because Grandma made it so easy.

  ***

  I slowed down as I reached the first buildings of the town, taking it all in. The storefronts were quaint and old-fashioned, in good repair for the most part. Some of them were painted in bright colors, while others retained their original white. Many of them had a bench by the front door, encouraging people to sit down and stay for a spell.

  Both sides of the entire street were lined with petunias in varying shades of red, purple, pink, and white. It had been that way every summer for as long as I could remember. Hidden Creek took great pride in its famous flower beds, and many teenagers jumped at the chance to earn a little extra spending money when property owners hired them to maintain their section of blooms.

  I smiled through the tears. My town. This was my town now. I was going to settle here, at least for the foreseeable future, and it felt amazing. I was so looking forward to being a real member of the community. Shopping at the locally owned grocery and hardware stores, going to Grandma’s church every Sunday, maybe even volunteering for a non-profit or two, which would give me the opportunity to give back and to meet people. People in my town.

  Man, I really loved the sound of that.

  I drove past a gas station/convenience store combo, then the hardware store, and a barber shop where you can also get your shoes repaired. Across the street was the old-fashioned “dime store”—as Grandma always called it—where you could get crafting supplies, makeup, gardening tools, underwear, and everything in between.

  Next was a small pizza restaurant, then the post office beside a surprisingly trendy coffee shop, and then a large office complex set back off the street. That building had sprung up only a few years ago and, according to the sign, it housed a dentist, an insurance agency, a financial advisor, a construction company, and a couple other businesses I didn’t catch as I drove by.

  The last part of the downtown strip held a gift shop, a bakery, the local bank, a florist, and at the very end of the block, the grocery store, where I had to stop before going on to the house. Although I’d stuffed my SUV full of things I knew I’d need before the moving truck arrived in three days, I hadn’t brought much food. I needed to make a quick grocery run to tide me over until I could plan a mega-shopping trip to fill all the empty cupboards.

  I found a parking spot just around the corner from the front entrance, grabbed my wallet, and went inside. Of course, the store was exactly the same as it had always been, right down to the old-fashioned bubblegum machines just beyond the check-out lanes, and the faded banner painted on the back wall advertising the freshest produce at the lowest prices.

  I loved it all. I didn’t want the iconic Hidden Creek businesses to ever change.

  I tugged a cart from the row at the front of th
e store and mentally ticked through the list of things I needed. Sandwich stuff, cereal, orange juice, milk, maybe a few cans of soup. And coffee. Definitely coffee.

  I walked up and down the aisles, glad for the chance to stretch my legs after the long drive. I’d located everything but the coffee when I heard my name called from behind.

  “Ava Ann, is that you, dear?”

  I turned around, surprised to hear my name, and my gaze fell on…..Priscilla. Priscilla O’Malley, to be exact, aka my grandmother’s best frenemy. At least, that’s what I’d always considered her. The two women had grown up together and been nearly inseparable all their lives, but their relationship was a tumultuous one. They competed over everything. Who grew the best flowers. Who was the best baker. Who crocheted the most intricate doilies. Who was the better decorator.

  The list went on and on. Gwendolyn and Priscilla each would have given their life for the other in a heartbeat, that was a fact, but while they’d both lived, they were in constant competition.

  As I watched Priscilla approach, her steps small and quick behind an overloaded cart, I realized the competition was over now, and the thought was unbearably sad. I felt the sting of tears as she flung her arms wide and I stepped into her hug.

  “Oh, you dear, dear girl,” she said fervently, patting my back rapidly as she held on tight. “You poor, poor thing. Such a sweet, sweet girl for coming here to take care of your grandma’s place. But….you’re not really moving in, are you?” Priscilla pulled back and stared at me through her large glasses, the frames embellished with rhinestones. “I heard you were moving in, but that can’t be right. Why would you leave a big exciting city for little old Hidden Creek?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely moving in,” I told her. “I’ve always loved Hidden Creek, you know that. And when I found out Grandma left me her house, I knew I had to come.”

  She tutted and patted my arm. “But surely you’re going to have some work done beforehand, right? You can’t move in with the kitchen that terrible shade of yellow. And the drapes in the living room—I tried to tell Gwendolyn they were much too heavy and dark, but would she listen? Of course not. When did she ever listen to me?”