Secrets of the Heart

By Karen Hudgins

Molly Marlowe, recently jilted boutique owner, lost her beloved mom in a car crash and carries a dark secret about it. Surely Molly has fallen from grace, and she denies herself good things. Yet, compassionate Julian Truman, new coffee house owner in Cypress Cove, steals her reluctant tea-loving heart. Still, his secrets and Molly's belief she doesn't deserve Julian's freshly-brewed true love jeopardize their everlasting happiness—until truth saves the day!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093443

Book preview

Dedication

For Nancy J. Koloff

Acknowledgments

Many special thanks go to coffee experts Ben Johnson, Martin Coffee Co., Jacksonville, FL, and Michael Hartkop, Solar Roast Coffee, Pueblo, CO., for their time, kindness, and tours while I researched the fascinating world of coffee for this book. Also, my gratitude goes to author C.Q. Scafidi for his superb and knowledgeable help with New Orleans research. Finally, as always, thanks to my family who understands and supports.

Many, many thanks also go to Heather O'Connor and Jeanne Smith for their editing work. Secrets of the Heart is better because of their expertise, teamwork, and like goal to provide the best book possible for readers near and far to enjoy.

All we need is love and a good cup of coffee.

—Unknown

One

Cypress Cove, Florida, February

Molly Marlow had no idea trouble was heading her way as she wrote on the sidewalk sign . Molly’s Boutique Anniversary Sale. Come in for tea and savings. Free Tarot Card readings today!

This ought to do it, Molly said to Georgia Waterman, her assistant and friend.

Georgia tilted her head. Hmm. Mind if I add some flourishes?

Molly smiled, handed her the colored chalk, and Georgia went to work.

It’s hard to believe six years have gone by. Molly gazed at the photo on the wall of herself on opening day. Since then she’d reconfigured the shop, lost some weight, and let her sun-streaked hair grow longer. Her mother, Cora Beth, would be dropping by with a three-layer chocolate cake to help celebrate.

Well, time flies, doesn’t it? Georgia said.

And it’s mostly been fun, too.

Except for last summer, when the rainwater came up to the front door.

Molly nodded. And when I found a mouse nesting in the alpaca sweaters.

Georgia rolled her eyes and took another chalk from the box. "But what’s going to be really fun is having our tarot cards read."

Molly shrugged slightly. I’m lukewarm to it, but requests for having a psychic reader came in our customer survey about what kinds of things we could do for our anniversary. She’s Jasmine Roth, and my Aunt Pat says she’s very good.

Georgia selected another color. I hope so, because it’s nice to know what’s coming around the corner. Still, my favorite guest this week will be Nora Dunkirk doing makeovers. She helped my neighbor with her hair and makeup and she looks so good.

I’m looking forward to our mini-fashion show on Thursday, Molly added and put on her name tag. We’ll have to come in early to clear some space and put up the folding chairs.

Georgia finished drawing and clapped chalk dust from her fingers. Her brown eyes beamed. Now, how do you like this?

Molly checked the board and gasped. A tricolor ribbon border highlighted her words, and a tarot deck sat in one corner and a cup of tea in another. I’m telling you, Georgia, you should blessed paint, or draw, or something. This is so eye-catching and will attract walk-ins. Thank you. Let’s add the balloons and move it outside to the pavement.

That done, Molly and Georgia came back inside and set up a cozy comfort corner for the readings. A rattan folding screen formed two short walls and a throw rug graced the wood floor. Molly pulled over the best chair in the place, while Georgia placed a 1960’s floor lamp next to it and turned it on. A small square oak table and another seat for shoppers wishing to have their cards read crowned the area.

Perfect, Molly said, as Jasmine arrived early. Molly helped her settle and Georgia brought out a tea tray and pecan cookies.

Thank you, Jasmine said and unpacked a set of cards from a small locked case. She pushed her gray smooth hair in place and adjusted the floral scarf around her neck. Her long necklace, with an occasional pearl tucked between small Celtic silver medallions, nearly met her waist. Her brushed slacks fit loosely and a mauve sweater wrapped her torso.

How long have you been doing this? Molly asked.

About thirty-five years, off and on. Sometimes I just meditate with the cards, depending on which deck I’m using. She shuffled the cards and laid the stack neatly in front of her. I’ll do my best for you, and we’ll keep it short. Now, I’d like to do a warm-up reading, if I may?

Sure, Molly said. If you wish.

Why don’t you go first? Georgia asked and pushed strands of her short red hair away from her cheek. Today she wore a short, deep green dress, black tights and sturdy low heels.

Lovely idea, Jasmine said, gesturing for Molly to join her at the table. It’s the least I can do for you, for inviting me here today.

Molly hesitated, but if it helped kick-start the event, she was game. She sat opposite Jasmine, smoothed her loose, coffee-colored skirt and folded her hands on her lap.

Okay, let’s begin. The customers will be coming in soon.

Jasmine deftly shuffled the large cards, set the deck in front of her, and tapped the top three times. Her gray-blue eyes sparkled. This’ll go quickly and give you a nice taste of tarot.

Georgia stood by Molly’s left side and bobbed her head up and down in an eager nod, while Jasmine laid down three cards next to each other in a row. She turned over the card furthest on the left in front of Molly.

This one represents your Past. Her eyes widened. Ohhh, it’s the Ace of Pentacles, or the root of the powers of Earth ...our material world. Things like money, occupation, precious objects, and mastering of knowledge. She raised her hands and looked around the room. So, you’ve paid attention to these things and your education, which have paid off for you. You’ve done a wonderful job here.

Molly tried to ward off a blush. We learn more every week.

Yes, ma’am, we do, Georgia agreed.

Okay, let’s reveal your Present card ...the one in the middle, Jasmine said. She turned it and laid it down. The intricate artwork snared Molly’s attention. A woman wearing a floppy orange hat and dressed in a long, colorful robe stood in a grape arbor. Nine golden orbs surrounded the lower half of her body with star-like pentacles centered in each. Her expression was peaceful, and on her gloved hand perched a falcon. The Roman numeral IX rested at the top.

Say, she’s beautiful, Georgia said, leaning toward the table.

Molly peered closer. Who do you suppose she represents?

Some outfit! Georgia said and crossed her arms. Who is she?

Jasmine laughed and sipped tea. Now, here we have the Nine of Pentacles, she explained. This is another good card, referring to material gain and discernment, perhaps with a need rising very soon for more patience and discretion. Most likely these things go hand-in-hand with running a business, so it looks to me like you’re on target.

While she spoke in her smooth Southern  Three customers strolled in, led by Mavis Burns.

Good morning, Mavis, Molly called. She was one of Molly’s better customers and had made a suggestion for a psychic reader of some sort. We have a special guest today.

Georgia began to move away from Molly’s side.

I’ll help them, she said. You still have one more card to go.

Molly nodded with appreciation and refocused on the cards. With a bit of a flourish, Jasmine tapped the final card with her finger. And this one’s about your Future. Her voice took on a lyrical tone.

Molly looked down at her ring finger. Hunter had given her the most beautiful diamond at Christmas, and right away she’d begun planning their June wedding. I hope it involves children, she said. And the new house I have my eye on over on Palm Drive.

It all sounds lovely, Molly, and I’m happy for you. Now let’s see...

Jasmine lifted the card, drew it closer to her, and glanced at it. Twice. Her mouth straightened and quivered at the corners a tad, on their way back up into a slow smile.

Oh, my, she said.

Molly tilted her head with her curiosity burning. What is it?

Jasmine coughed faintly and averted her eyes to the silk flowers on a nearby bookshelf. Now, Molly, this is why I like to do a warm-up... because there have been times when my readings have been, shall we say, shaky or a tad off the mark?

Not often, from what I hear, Molly said. So, let’s move on. Mavis is surely going to want to sit here next.

Jasmine leaned forward and carefully placed the card face up. Molly gazed intently. A large red heart dominated the image. Storm clouds with rain flying from them surrounded the heart. Uncertainty rushed through her. Why are there three swords lodged in the heart?

Jasmine sighed. "I certainly wish this card hadn’t shown its face, but this one is the dreaded Three of Swords," Jasmine said with her voice lowered.

It doesn’t look like a happy card. Molly tightened her fingers around the bottom button on her homespun oatmeal sweater. What does it mean?

Well, in a nutshell, there’s usually deep sorrow on the horizon attached to this card, or isolation, loneliness. There could be absence involved and maybe a stormy parting of the ways. She waved her hand away from the card. So when a card like this turns up, we take it with a grain of salt. If anything comes from it, you being you, Molly, you’ll... sail through things admirably.

So my future could hold serious trouble? Molly pulled closer to the edge of the chair. She could give in to the jab behind her breastbone and fret, or she could make light of the situation. She chose the latter. This is for fun, and we could just pick another card, she joked. But right now we need to help these ladies have a good time.

Absolutely, dearie, Jasmine said with a deep, knowing nod. She lowered her head slightly and slipped Molly’s cards back into the deck—except for the Three of Swords, which she laid aside. Quickly, she fanned the deck and plucked out a few more undoubtedly worrisome cards and put them with the Three of Swords.

As Molly rose, Mavis headed toward them. With another little flourish, Jasmine tucked the Three of Swords and its undesirable companions back into the card box and snapped the lid shut. Winking at Molly, she raised her right forefinger to her lips to seal their shared secret.

Molly smiled with relief. Thank you, she whispered back.

It was a bitty-bit of an underhanded move, ditching the cards. But Molly’s was a place filled with whimsy, style, and practicality, where customers left their cares and woes at the front door and shopped for treasures.

Reaching her goal to make her shop the best woman-owned, small, profitable business in the county was getting closer every year. So why risk tainting a happy shopping experience at Molly’s Boutique by giving her patrons distressing news?

COSTA RICA, SEPTEMBER

Molly clutched her beloved mother’s gold locket, which hung close to her heart. Barefoot, she leaned into the open window of her villa and strained to see through the mist. The morning sun would soon burn off the haze to reveal coffee trees and the lush hills that had intrigued her from first peek. Three monkeys chattered and chased each other on the lawn below. They brought a half-smile to her lips, as she let the scenery soothe her wilted spirit.

Fate had played its unruly hand—twice—in devastating ways since February and the anniversary celebration at Molly’s Boutique. Her love life had slammed to a halt. She was no longer engaged to Hunter. Who’d have guessed a virile, rebel chef like him could whip up hot and spicy, award winning barbeque, yet get cold feet?

After he’d left in March for Texas, she’d promised herself to protect her heart better from such disappointments. No matter which heart-stopper fell into her lap, how charming he was, or how lonely she got, her private pledge would stand strong. She had to hold out until she was sure a lover wouldn’t steal her heart, dash her dreams, and leave her high and dry like Hunter had.

But the sudden loss of Molly’s mother five months ago in April had taken the deepest toll. Cora had died instantly when her car was struck broadside by a reckless driver. Here today, gone tomorrow had become a hard, fast reality for Molly. Like her father, Stephen, she would forever miss her mother. Yet, unlike him, she harbored a dark secret about her mother’s death.

Still, Molly needed to carry on, help her father with things, and not bring him more grief. She also wanted to smile more in social circles and cry inside less. What, or whom, in the universe can I trust? Certainly not my own heart.

While she struggled for balance, she reduced her social life. She’d become more sensitive to unexpected things, and going away for a while wasn’t something she’d thought of doing. Yet her dad was right about their taking this timely trip.

By their third morning here at the Highland Coffee Farm and Resort, she was breathing more deeply. She looked less over her shoulder for trouble at her heels. Better yet, she could focus on finding things to help stock her boutique back home.

She turned away from the window and called Guest Services.

"Hello, I’d like a driver to take me to the Mercado Central. Yes, for most of the day. Gracias. I’ll be in the lobby in fifteen minutes."

Pleased, she hung up. Now she could amble through aisles of produce and local handmade wares. Surely, she’d find unique treasures for her customers. If she could shine in her work out in the community, it could help her regain what she’d lost on the inside—some of her self-respect. In her way of thinking, she’d fallen from grace.

For now, newfound anticipation thrummed through her as she showered and dressed in khaki shorts and a printed halter top. Her favorite Nikes were perfect for lots of walking. She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and put on rosy lipstick. She then wiggled into her daypack and texted her father. He’d left his villa earlier and was meeting at the breakfast bar with an investment client.

I’m leaving now for the market, she typed with her thumbs. "See you tonight at the fiesta."

Enjoy yourself, Junebug. Later, he replied.

She put on her straw hat and sunglasses and soon traipsed down the path that led to the open air lobby where she and her father had checked in on Wednesday. A resort driver had brought them from the San Jose airport into this central mountainous, volcanic country via decent roads.

Molly took in deep breaths while she walked. The air was thick, but fresh. Beyond a stretch of grass, the path led her to a colorful garden. She soaked up the earthy pulse of this quiet oasis in the heart of the fifty-hectare farm owned by coffee-grower Ramon Garcia.

Rustic huts stood far to her right. Outside their open doors lay piles of bags, baskets, and drying beds which reminded her that ripening Arabica coffee trees grew under watchful care. Eventually, the cherries would be hand plucked by experts. While the world sipped and sighed, Ramon and farmers like him readied for harvesting the next crop.

Molly smiled wryly. She much preferred tea over coffee, and it was unlikely she’d have chosen this place for a vacation escape. Yet, she couldn’t disappoint her father. He had suggested the idea when it had come up recently at a Business Boosters meeting.

How can I go away for ten days? she’d asked.

I’m more worried about what will happen if you don’t, he’d replied with concern.

So, here she was, immersed in a tropical paradise with much to do. Today was National Coffee Day, and Ramon was holding a fiesta for guests tonight to celebrate. Folkloric dance, music, and plenty of Imperial beer would flow. The event promised to be cheery.

Also, it would give Molly and her dad a chance to be neighborly fourteen hundred miles from home. Every year, the Cypress Cove Business Boosters group organized an enrichment trip based on the nature of one of the local businesses as part of the Getting to Know You Program.

Her dad had explained more to her over dinner last night. Julian Truman is one of our new members, and he suggested this coffee resort destination. It won, hands down, in the trip vote.

Molly picked up her fork. It’s lovely here, but I guess I don’t know him.

Julian’s a coffee roaster from New Orleans, and he owns the new coffeehouse on River Road. He’s an interesting guy and strikes me as level-headed. He’ll help our town grow.

Maybe so, but Molly still wouldn’t know Julian or his coffee place. Again, java wasn’t her thing. Nor was a man who carved a life out of the food and beverage industry. Hunter had cured her of that and motorcycle rides, among other things. More importantly, her mother’s life had ended at the intersection of River Road and Edna Street. So she avoided that section of town at all costs.

Presently, the soft dirt path widened and Molly quickened her steps. The lobby and the Jeeps, each with the farm’s red coffee berry logo emblazoned on their doors, popped into sight. She walked indoors and helped herself to juice and a roll and approached the front desk.

Good morning, Ms. Marlow, the rotund clerk said. My brother Pedro is ready to take you into town. Enjoy your day.

Within minutes, Molly was settling deep into the passenger seat and biting into the roll. As they rode through a village, an uneasy feeling sparked inside her. She didn’t know why, and her intuition hadn’t been much help lately. The night she lost her mom, she’d had never sensed a drop of anything happening. They were so close; she should’ve felt something.

Perhaps being alone on an adventure in new territory had triggered her sense of wariness. There was no Spanish moss swaying in the trees and no boats bobbing in the marina on the St. John’s River. Only trees, lush dark green hills, quaint farms with kids, dogs, and goats sped by the Jeep’s open windows. She tried to stave off the inexplicable twitter by talking with the driver, half in English and half in her broken Spanish.

As they approached the busy market, Molly’s right palm oddly itched. If her mother’s older sister, Aunt Pat, had been with her, her elderly eyes would have lit up with superstition. "Honey, you’re about to meet somebody new. Coming from her, the somebody new" would likely be a man. Like Molly’s mom, Aunt Pat believed in Molly, and she wanted her to settle and marry.

Molly pursed her mouth cynically. Yes, she was going to meet local men and women—vendors with whom she could make deals. Aside from things for her shop’s shelves, she might find wooden bead earrings to wear this evening to the fiesta, or perhaps a new dress. But this itch rooted itself deeply into her palm, drifted upward and inward and settled into her lonely, guilty heart.

JULIAN TRUMAN STOOD in the middle of the Mercado Central and finished his first taste of coffee grown in the Los Santos province of San Jose. A dark roast, its aroma and flavor stirred his soul like a mysterious, beautiful woman. He wanted to drink more. Forever.

"A winner, indeed, this Glorioso, he said to farmer Henrique. Is it usually like this?"

"Si, Señor. We try for every season. My crew, the weather, and God help us."

Julian chuckled. You make a good team. He jotted notes in his dog-eared little notebook while Henrique sifted the purplish-red cherry beans through his stubby fingers.

I’m interested, Julian finally said.

Henrique smiled and that set forth negotiations for settling on a fair green bean price and arrangements for exporting and importing beans home to Cypress Cove on a sustainable basis. Julian couldn’t wait to work with them to create a new blend. In his business, it all started with the bean. These beans, rare, rich, and expensive, promised great things.

So far, he had two clients who had commissioned him to create exclusive, personal blends. This private label business also fed his keen quest for the best beans on the planet. He’d gotten word about how a few distant farmers, in San Jose for Coffee Day, could be met here.

We’ll buy and meet again, Julian told the farmer. Henrique handed him his only bag of the exclusive, coveted purplish Glorioso beans. He shouldered the ten pounds easily and moved on with a spring in his step. He’d successfully launched another optimal partnership for his small batch, artisan coffee company. But his work wasn’t finished. Tonight, before the festivities at the Highland Coffee Farm and Resort, he would finalize one last buy from Ramon Garcia, the owner. Then, he intended to celebrate his deals at the fiesta.

Julian soon headed for a lunch of rice and beans and, as usual, daydreamed about roasting and blending fine coffee beans. Someday he would win the coveted Gold Cup Approval for his efforts. More than a career milestone, winning the award for excellence would help him show his disappointed, conditionally loving father that pursuing his coffee dream was right for him.

Failing wasn’t an option, and he focused mostly on his work with little downtime. Dating rarely crossed his mind. His last relationship had turned disastrous. He’d never suspected Eloisa still had a husband in Canada... Now, he wasn’t up for trusting even the sweetest of hearts.

His reverie faded as he jerked to a stop. A frantic, local woman darted across his path and brushed his arm as she turned to face him. Tears streamed from her dark brown eyes and ran down her tanned cheeks.

She waved her hands in the air and cried, My baby!

Car horns blew around them, and a little orange car bumped into a gray burro carrying a basket of home-grown fruit. The injured burro brayed, spun sideways, and plowed into Julian’s right hip. Muscles tightened, Julian lost the battle for balance and hit the ground. His bag of Glorioso beans flipped into the air, dove, and splattered onto the roof of the car. The burlap burst, and Julian’s all-hallowed beans showered everywhere.

He shoved himself back to his feet and his blood curdled cold. Stifling four-letter words, he clenched his fists. My coffee, he bellowed, his plan for greatness just drying up.

The woman ran to him. My baby’s gone, she wailed. Please, help me find my boy! Abruptly, she turned toward the open stalls. Juan, where are you?

Julian rifled his hand through his hair and stepped forward to help. After all, lost coffee beans didn’t compare to a lost child.

Two

Molly hardly contained her excitement over the unique goods she found at the market stalls. She envisioned a special area in her gift boutique for Costa Rican jewelry, colorful clothing, and wares. Christmas wasn’t far off, and she’d be ready with one-of-a-kind items. She stuffed her latest purchase, a hand-painted mug, into her daypack and meandered through more of the plentiful stalls.

Woven baskets caught her attention, and she stopped in front of them. Their shapes, sizes, patterns, and colors beckoned her to ship some home. One colorful basket in particular appealed to her. While she focused on its intricate weave, a rising noise and commotion at the outer edge of the stalls vied for some of her attention. Mixed voices grew louder and a woman wailed. A burro brayed, and a guy yelled something about coffee beans.

Molly tried to tune it out and stood over a tall, round basket that almost reached her waist. This would make a customer happy to use as a hamper or a decorative statement for an indoor entryway. She wrapped her fingers around the woven knob centered on the lid and lifted it from the rim. She peered into the belly of the basket.

Two large, brown eyes stared up at her. A child’s eyes! Wide-open and filled with surprise and fear, they dared not blink. She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. A little boy, who was maybe six or seven, reached up to her.

Oh, my, she cried. Who are you?

Mama, the boy whimpered. Mama?

Molly dropped the lid next to her on the gravel. Come, let me help you. What’re you doing in there?

She pulled the child out into the light. He clutched her shirt and wrapped his legs around her waist. The stall owner, wearing a long skirt, rushed around to the front of the basket display. Fury flashed from her eyes. She yelled something in Spanish