Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright 2016 by Tracy Krimmer

  Cover image GeorgeRudy, depositphotos.com

  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.

  For Jody — Thank you for our numerous nights as teenagers cruising the highway that usually landed us at moonlight bowling.

  For Tricia — Thank you for introducing me and Jody to Grease 2 in the early 90s.

  Sparing the Heart

  By Tracy Krimmer

  A Pastime Pursuits Novel

  Chapter

  One

  I never thought the musty smell of smoke and shoe polish would define my life, yet here I am. The hair on the back of my neck sticks straight up as I step onto the dark brown carpeting. My childhood is laid out before me in the way of neon-colored bowling balls and bumpers lining a few gutters. Dad made me use those the first few times we bowled together. One time I threw the ball so hard it missed the bumper and hopped into the next lane.

  Only two lanes are occupied, but even that surprises me on a Thursday afternoon. I’ll excuse the woman who is obviously a stay-at-home mom teaching her toddler how to bowl, but the couple on lane seven makes no sense to me. Shouldn’t these people be at their jobs? Unless they work third shift, but then I would rather be at home sleeping. I can’t function on no sleep.

  I’m lucky I can take my job anywhere, and I do need to get stuff done today, whether I’m at the office or my condo. This comes first, though. I’ll sign up and everything will be back to normal. Well, as much as it can be anyway. I can’t bring Dad back and I don’t intend to return to the B&B. My brother and his wife can handle that on their own. If they couldn’t, I’d still be stuck back there in misery, going about my days in a zombie-like state. Sometimes change is the only thing that can save you from yourself.

  I lick my lips in an effort to moisten them, but it doesn’t work. The air scratches at my throat and butterflies are wrestling in my stomach. I’m doubting this is the right decision. I can find something to do other than bowling. Skiing. I hate the cold but so what? I own a winter jacket and can buy some snow pants. Ugh. The snow. It’s bad enough when I’m forced to drive in the stuff. Playing in it is the last thing I want to do. And I can bowl now. The plan isn’t to find a hobby I can start in five months.

  A ball slams into the pins, startling me. The two patrons of lane seven cheer and exchange a high-five. They’re good. I wonder if I’m still that good.

  I pass the empty bar and approach the counter where a tall, burly gentleman is spraying shoes. He doesn’t acknowledge me when I first step in front of him, and I catch a glimpse of myself on the top of his balding head. “Excuse me, Sir?”

  He sets the spray down and makes eye contact. The name “Ted” is embroidered on his shirt. “How can I help you?” He smiles and I’m somewhat surprised at his bright, shiny teeth. I expected one to be missing, or at the very least, stained and unattractive. I shouldn’t judge based on appearance, but being a realtor, I’m trained on curb appeal. Ted is lacking in this area.

  “The sign outside says leagues are forming. Who can I speak with about that?” There. Inquiring is progress.

  “They’re done, but you can talk to my brother, Ned.” He turns and calls out for his brother before I can stop him. There’s no need to bother him if signups are closed. “He’ll be right out.”

  I tighten my jaw. I should leave, but then I’ll feel bad for pulling the manager away from his duties and I’m not even there. Fine. I’ll stick around and ask him, I guess. Maybe Ted’s wrong.

  I thank him and find a spot behind lane seven to wait. Ted and Ned. Interesting names. I wonder if they’re twins and the result of parents who weren’t thinking straight. Rhyming names. Who does that? It’s almost as irritating as families whose names all begin with the same letter. Lock me up if I ever do that because it’s a crime in my eyes.

  I glance at the scoreboard and the person with the initial G is winning, managing two strikes during the game and three spares. I’m impressed by their scores.

  “Miss? I’m Ned.”

  I spin around and am face-to-face with a man who is far from the image of his brother. He’s tall, like Ted, but he has so much blond hair he requires a ponytail. His shirt is tight against his biceps and on his left arm, a tattoo of a ball striking pins catches my eye. I’m looking for his hammer because I’m certain Thor is standing in front of me.

  “Um, hi. My name is Kate Hayes. I saw the sign about leagues. I’m interested in joining one.” Says the idiot who was already told there are no openings. I’m regretting my decision to stick around. I’m coming off as a moron to this beautiful man.

  He glares at Ted. “Sorry, Kate, but Ted was supposed to take the sign down. We’re all full. Registration closed the twenty-third.”

  Last week. I missed the deadline by seven damn days. Of course, I finally step up and decide to do something about my lonely evenings watching every romantic comedy Netflix offers while drinking a box of wine, and I’m too late.

  “Shoot.” I pull at my earring. If signups are closed here, I’m sure they are everywhere else. I guess I’m better off sticking to my solitude nights. I’ll hook up my Wii and use that. That’s the same, right?

  “Wait. I know a team who temporarily lost one of their players. The spot may still be open.”

  “Yes!” I say, much over eager. “I mean, yes, I’d love to see if they need someone. Can you give me their information?”

  He points to the couple I admired only moments before. “Check with Gretchen. She’s the team captain.”

  “Okay … thanks.” He’s not going to introduce me? I should walk up and intrude on their game? Hi, I’m Kate and need companionship outside of work. I thought joining a team would fulfill my need. You interested? I hope I don’t come off as a nitwit.

  “No problem.” He tugs at his ponytail. “Hopefully a spot is available and we can chat again soon.” He flexes his bicep and raises his eyebrows.

  I let our eyes lock. He’s gorgeous, if you’re into the bad-boy-rock-star-dreamy-eyes type, but I didn’t come here for a relationship. I haven’t been down that
road in years and, quite honestly, don’t think I ever intend to go down it again. “Yeah. That would be nice.” I’m not lying. He seems like a sweet enough guy, underneath the long hair and tattoos. The whole point of this is to expand my circle of friends beyond coworkers.

  As Ned leaves, I grin, proud of myself for my first non-business conversation since moving here. Or at least a discussion longer than thirty seconds with someone I don’t see at the office.

  I wait for Gretchen to finish her next frame before approaching. I don’t want to interrupt them. She’s slick and the ball rolls out of her hands perfectly. She grabs a spare and gives a polite smile when she catches me staring.

  I take this as an invite and approach her. I converse with strangers every day in my job. This is no different. “Hi. I’m Kate Hayes. Ned said to talk to you about your league.”

  I already love the way her long, wavy brown locks fall over her shoulders. I doubt she even uses product. I touch my hair, now much shorter than it’s ever been. It’s a tad boyish, but I like it. Her smile is bright and inviting and she gives me the impression she laughs a lot just by the way she says hello.

  “Gretchen.” We shake hands. “You play?” She sits down and begins loosening her laces.

  “Do you mind?” I point to the seat next to her.

  “Not at all. Sit down.”

  “Thanks.” I settle in while she finishes untying her shoes. “I used to. Quite a bit, actually. Things in life got busy, though, and bowling got pushed aside.”

  “I understand what you mean.” She pulls her shoes off and sets them on an empty chair. “Are you any good?”

  Her eyes match the color of her hair and her cheeks form into little balls as she smiles. Prominent wrinkles grace her forehead whenever her lips curl. I guess she’s in her early thirties.

  “Yeah. The last league I was in I averaged about 170.” Of course that was over a year ago. If bowling is like riding a bike, I’ll still be able to bring that to the table.

  “Not bad. I’m at 185 and he’s 190.”

  The man she’s with approaches and reaches his hand out. “Clark, Gretchen’s husband.” He’s average height, light brown hair and a little on the pudgy side.

  “Hi, Clark. I’m Kate.”

  “You’re looking to join a league?”

  “Yeah. I spoke with Ned and he said you’re down a person?”

  Gretchen pulls her hair back in a ponytail. “My brother’s partner sprained her wrist.” She says partner as though it’s the worst thing ever. “I personally think she has a case of being too good to put bowling shoes on instead of her Jimmy Choo’s.”

  “Is this a couples league?”

  “No. It just worked out that way.” Clark puts his arm around his wife. “We’ve been in this league for three years now.”

  I’m not sure I like the idea of playing beside someone’s significant other. Even if it’s not couples-based, if the team is made up of them, I’ll be out of place. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not!” Gretchen grabs my arm. “Don’t worry. There are six of us in the group, and only two of the pairs are couples. We play for fun. I keep telling Clark we could switch to a competitive league, but he says no.”

  “Who wants to get all caught up in that? I’m here for a good time.”

  My dad used to play competitively. After he moved on from mom’s death he went back to bowling for cash and prizes. Greed takes over when anything of value, especially money, is involved. “Are you sure? I’d love to sub for your injured player.”

  “We practice every other Tuesday, and bowl on those Fridays.” Gretchen slips on her street shoes.

  “How long would you need me as a replacement?” I’m searching for something I can commit to for a decent amount of time. I’m becoming a workaholic again. “Get back into life. Spend time with other people and make some friends.”. That’s what my therapist said, anyway.

  “Ah, I’m sure she’ll be out the whole season. We’d love for you to be on the team.”

  The past six months of my life can be summed up in two words: lonely and boring. Work, home, eat, sleep and repeat the next day. I enjoy bowling and spending time with people other than clients fills my heart with joy.

  “Sounds fun. I’m in.”

  Clark tosses his arm up in a fist pump. “Clark’s Pin Crushers will live on!”

  Okay, I’ve made my therapist happy. I hope it does the same for me.

  Chapter

  Two

  I don’t hate people; I just hate most people. Okay, hate may be a strong word, but every time I’ve helped anyone out it resulted in a huge backfire. I’m sick of sticking my neck out for people who show no appreciation. This is why I’m on a search to find some real friends — people who won’t take me for granted, leave, or issue ultimatums. Conditions aren’t acceptable when love or friendship is involved.

  My job requires interaction with people. Like, lots of people. I don’t mind. I did it at the bed and breakfast. But, if I can keep communication minimal, I like that best. I try and respond via emails or text when I can, and say what I need to in the least amount of words as possible.

  I chose real estate for the freedom; not the long hours and annoying buyers. I got into the business during a time the housing market hit an all-time low, but it’s improving, even if at a snail’s pace. My lackluster sales are on the incline, and I’m out to prove I can sell the shit out of a house. Lately, though, either my houses are a challenge, or finding the right buyer is impossible.

  I sit down at my desk and open my calendar — always the first thing I do. My boss, Linda, is requesting a meeting. Great. I wonder what this is about. I hope not another sit down regarding my lack of listings. I’m working on it, but I can’t force someone to sell their home.

  She wants to meet in ten minutes, which isn’t even enough time for me to drink my tea. Whether she minds or not, I’m bringing it in the office with me because my body demands caffeine this morning.

  My favorite is peppermint. Mint’s always been my preferred choice, even as a kid. Now the blend of spearmint and peppermint not only satisfy my taste buds but soothe my stomach on bad days. I’m having less of those now, but I’m not confident they will ever truly disappear.

  Peppermint will come later since I’m in need of a pick me up. I opt for the black tea. Once the microwave beeps, I grab the mug, along with a notebook and pen, and head into Linda’s office.

  She’s sitting at her desk typing on her laptop so fast I’m afraid her fingers will burn through the keyboard. She finishes her thought and motions for me to come in. “I’m telling you, Kate, my children will regret the day Apple let me respond to text messages via my computer. I don’t go for this abbreviation crap kids use these days. You want to borrow my car to take a day trip around the state? Your license has barely been in your wallet for two weeks! Yeah. I don’t think so.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Children. Be forewarned, Kate, they’re work.”

  Linda is a mom of three girls, all teenagers, one most recently getting behind the wheel. I don’t doubt it’s nerve-racking, but if you ask me, she keeps a pretty tight leash on them. I remember being a teenager. My parents believed in letting me make my own mistakes. I explored many things during my teen years and I turned out fine. I realize we live in a different world today, but let kids be kids.

  “You requested a meeting?” I halt any chance at an evening recap. Sometimes if I don’t stop her, I end up hearing about her entire night.

  “Yes, please, sit down.”

  I set my mug down on her desk and scoot the chair in slightly. “I hope you don’t mind. This is my first cup of tea this morning.” On a normal day my tally is up to two or three by now.

  “No problem. I’m on my second pot of coffee already.”

  I’m sure two pots is an exaggeration. If I had that much caffeine in my body by nine-thirty in the morning, I’d be doing jumping jacks in my office.

  “Last night a few inquiries came o
ff the website. I thought maybe you’d like to give the people a call back?”

  I take the printed sheets from her and estimate the amount of trees she killed in the meantime. Despite explaining to her multiple times I can access this information on my phone or tablet, she balks at me and starts to lecture me about how unreliable computers are. I give up.

  “Why are you giving these to me?” My boss can sell anything. She can talk you into buying something you own. I witnessed her do it. She convinced a co-worker to pay her ten dollars for a sub sandwich he already paid for! I can’t believe she would hand over a client.

  “Honestly, Kate, my list of cold calls keeps piling up and my youngest is starting high school this year and is having a difficult time.”

  I’m sure she’s waiting for me to inquire more about her daughter, but experience warns me that will lead into a half hour conversation.

  “My workload is full right now and I know you could use more.”

  Is my failure that obvious? I scan through the emails in haste. One is a listing for sale. I’ll make that my priority. “Sounds good. I’ll finish up my tea and get started.”

  I thank her and race back to my desk before I leave the opportunity open for more discussion about her teenagers. I can’t handle that this early in the morning.

  I take another sip as I read through the form sent from the website last night. A woman by the name of Janice Foley wants to sell her 1985 home and needs someone to contact her right away. I check the address and houses in the area have been selling for close to $300,000. This may be a great sale for me. I pick up the phone and wait impatiently through three rings before someone finally answers.

  “Can I help you?”

  I’m taken aback by the abrupt greeting. “Yes, Ms. Foley? My name is Kate Hayes from Double West Realty. You sent a request regarding your property.”

  “Took you long enough to answer my inquiry.” She sucks in and blows out air, undoubtedly from a cigarette. “How quick can you be at the place?”