Читать книгу Protected Hearts - Bonnie K. Winn - Страница 11

Seth couldn’t stop thinking of Emma’s face. It had been filled with fear as she had scurried back to her own house.

What were the chances that she’d live next door? Well, it was a small town. Smaller than he’d realized.

Back inside, the house seemed even emptier. Of course it was empty. He hadn’t brought anything with him from the city other than his clothes. After the divorce, he’d walked away from the house he and Carla had furnished with such optimism and promise. Every room, every object contained a memory he couldn’t bear to take with him. So he’d rented a furnished apartment. Things he had no connection with.

He intended to buy what he needed in Rosewood. But his needs were less these days, his life leaner. In truth, bleaker. But the truth wasn’t an easy companion.

Glancing around the lackluster house, he wondered if he should have bought instead of renting. Then he’d have something to do with himself. But he had no interest in reworking a house for his own use. No matter what he did with it, the place wouldn’t be a home. That was gone forever.

Seth considered his choices. Takeout from the local burger place, reading by flashlight or calling it a night. Without electricity, television wasn’t an option. Venturing back into town held no appeal.

Glancing out the kitchen window, he saw all the lights ablaze in Emma’s house. Nervous type. Maybe she was a small-town spinster, spooked by her own shadow. But when he’d looked into her eyes that afternoon, he hadn’t gotten that impression. He’d seen something he recognized.

He shook his head. He didn’t even know if she was single. She could be married or engaged.

As he opted for his sleeping bag and an early night, Emma’s face flashed through his thoughts. He doubted she was married. She seemed far too alone.

The shop was nuts. Emma had agreed to make costumes for both the local community theater’s adult production as well as their children’s play. While thrilled with the business, she and Tina were crowding each other. And they were running out of space to store the costumes. Plus, the high school’s production wasn’t too far away.

Tina squeezed one more costume on the already tightly packed display rack. “Emma, face it. Either we get more space or we have to cut back on orders.”

It was a decision Emma had been avoiding for some time. But things were coming to a head. “Which would you vote for?”

“You know me, boss. I like being busy.”

Emma felt the same way. “But what if I expand and the business falls off?”

Tina reached for a piece of chalk, marking a hem. “Executive decision, not my bag. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Maybe just a small expansion,” Emma suggested, her tone as tentative as her words.

Tina rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

But change was difficult for Emma. Since her life had been twisted inside out, she clung to the familiar. “I suppose.”

Tina scribbled on the tag that accompanied the order. “By fall carnival, we won’t be able to turn around in here.”

“Good point.” Emma glanced around at the familiar but compact space. Cindy had been urging her to expand for months, confident that Try It On was only going to be more successful, especially since the community theater had acquired a wealthy benefactor.

Adam Benson, a well-known oil man who split his time between L.A. and Houston, had retired to the Hill Country. He had a passion for the arts and didn’t see why moving away from a major center of culture meant he had to be deprived of good theater. He’d endowed the local community theater, donating enough to build a new playhouse. His generosity also enabled them to purchase first-rate costumes. She had enough work to keep her shop busy all year.

Emma frowned as she looked at the overflowing storage space. The community theater now staged six annual productions plus a Christmas play. That was a lot of costumes, which she was in charge of archiving. Where was she going to put them?

The bell over the door tinkled as it opened. The UPS delivery man wheeled in a dolly stacked with boxes. The cartons filled the last bit of empty floor space by the counter. She stifled a groan. Maybe she could add a room. Certainly she could get a few estimates, see if the cost was within reason.

Tina glanced at the latest delivery and then at Emma.

She had to get those estimates now, before the shop literally grew through the roof.

By the time they had sorted out the day’s orders and deliveries, it was growing late. It was dark when she drove home. Again, Emma saw candlelight flickering next door. But rather than instilling fear, this time it triggered guilt. Seth must be her new neighbor—no one burgled the same place two nights in a row. Which meant she hadn’t been very neighborly. Especially since he appeared to still be without power.

She ought to make the effort, cook something for dinner, take it over.

Keeping to her routine, she put the dogs out back—after making certain the gate was firmly closed. Of course, if Sundance smelled something, he’d find a way out. She could have put them in the dog run, a chain-link enclosure with a roof, which they couldn’t escape from. But she didn’t like to limit them to the small space. She watched her dogs carefully, herding them back inside before Sundance could wander.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, she turned all the locks on the back door with a shiver of relief. Her resolve weakening, she opened the refrigerator. She could defrost some chicken. There were enough ingredients in her pantry to assemble some sort of dish to offer her new neighbor. But she thought of the flickering candlelight, the fear she’d felt the previous evening. Closing her eyes, she sank back against the counter.

And her resolve disappeared altogether.

Over the next week Seth distributed more of his business cards than he’d expected to. Still, he was surprised by the phone call from Michael Carlson, setting up today’s meeting. Carlson owned the largest construction company in the region.

Sitting across the desk from him, Michael was gracious but forthright with his proposition. “I get a lot of calls from people who need work done, but the job’s not big enough to dedicate a crew to it. I’d like to have someone reliable who I can refer. Luke over at the hardware store gave me a call, told me about you.”

“In a small town like this I’m surprised you don’t have a list of independent contractors.”

“I do.” Michael smiled ruefully. “I’ve hired the best of them to head my crews. There are still plenty of one man outfits, plumbers, painters, electricians. But not a general contractor I feel good about recommending.”

“Then you’re going to need some references.”

“I’d like to see some of your work.”

Seth nodded. “That’s reasonable. Fact is I haven’t done much contracting in several years.”

“You’re just getting back into it?”

“Getting back to my roots, so to speak. Remodeling paid my way through school.”

“What did you study?”

“Architecture. Which is what I’ve been doing since I graduated.” Seth braced himself, expecting Michael to grill him.

“That’s a great asset for a contractor. Do you have some older jobs I can check out?”

Seth had prepared a list, which he handed to Michael. “The majority are in Dallas. But you’ll find phone numbers there for contacts with several major construction firms.”

“I have to say this is very impressive.” Michael lowered the paper and Seth could see the question in his eyes. Why was Seth going backward on his career path? “Perhaps I should be recruiting you to head one of my crews.”

“I’d rather work on my own.”

Michael met his gaze, his own measuring. “I can respect that. It was hard for me to learn to delegate—especially since I started this business by myself with only a tool belt.”

Seth glanced around the luxurious office. “You’ve done well.”

“I’ve been blessed,” Michael replied simply. “I moved to Rosewood myself not that many years ago. I found the people to be welcoming, genuine. I hope you feel that way.”

“I haven’t been here all that long,” Seth hedged.

“Took me a while, too.” Michael glanced down at the paper. “I’ll make a few calls and get back to you. When would you be ready to take referrals?”

“Any time.”

“You’re all settled in then?”

Seth thought of his near-empty house. “I’m getting there.”

“Good. It doesn’t take much to figure out things in Rosewood, but if you need a hand, call.”

“You haven’t checked my references yet.”

“That’s business. But when you’re new in town sometimes you need a neighbor more than work.”

Seth blinked. “That’s a far cry from how things are done in Dallas.”

Michael chuckled. “I guess so. Before Rosewood I lived in a different town, but it was just as small. So I guess it’s second nature. Welcome.” He extended his hand.

Accepting the handshake, Seth sensed Michael’s sincerity. He was glad to have met this man. If he still believed in signs of good fortune, he would have thought this was one.

A week later, Emma still hadn’t made a solitary neighborly gesture toward Seth McAllister. And that wasn’t like her.

She hadn’t made a decision about enlarging the shop, either. And the situation was past dire. Try It On had just been commissioned to make new choir robes.

Emma was delighted at the chance to update and redesign the robes—the Community Church had a wonderful choir. She was already sketching out ideas in her head. Which was a good thing since her draft board was now buried under the last delivery. She’d considered taking the drafting table home, but that would only complicate matters. The fabric and tools she needed were here at the shop.

Luckily, Cindy had again volunteered to help, this time to organize the overflow. She held up a bolt of fuzzy pink fabric. “Where do you want me to put this?”

The space where the fake fur had been was now filled with another bolt of material. “I swear they multiply at night after I leave.” Emma rubbed her forehead. “For now, on the cutting table.”

“That’s already stacked a mile high.”

Emma sighed. “When did everything get so out of control?”

“It’s not so much out of control—it’s that you’re out of room. Face it, Emma, push has come to shove. Why don’t you call Michael? He’ll give you a fair bid and he won’t run over budget with a bunch of unexpected costs.”

Michael was a friend from church and Emma knew Cindy was right about him. He would be more than fair. “I wish I were more flexible, open to change—it would make this easier.”

“We are who we are,” Cindy replied.

“How did you become so wise?”

“I had plenty of practice doing dumb things. I guess after a while some of it had to sink in.”

Emma finally smiled. Cindy was kind, generous, full of life and fun. But definitely not dumb. “Uh-huh.”

“So, are you going to call Michael?”

“Yes.” Emma took a deep breath. “You’re right, it’s past time. And I trust him completely. How could I go wrong?”

Emma was still coming up with disaster scenarios as she pulled into her driveway that evening. Having taken her courage in hand, she’d called Michael. And he’d recommended one person. Seth McAllister. Her mysterious next-door neighbor. The one she’d deliberately been unneighborly toward.

Surreptitiously, she studied his house as she collected her bag. Why in the world had she convinced herself that the man was a danger? Michael had nothing but high praise for Seth. And Emma had jumped to conclusions. It wasn’t a move worthy of her belief system.

As she walked inside, Emma greeted her dogs absently. When they ran outside, she paused, looking at Seth’s house. She thought of how lonely she’d been when she moved to Rosewood and instantly felt guilty. Well, it wasn’t too late.

She could cook a pretty decent lasagna. And luckily, she had everything she needed. The previous evening she’d made a big vat of spaghetti sauce. Once the wavy lasagna noodles were cooked, it didn’t take long to layer the casserole and then pop it in the oven.

As it baked, she took some time to freshen her makeup and change from her work clothes into a sleeveless yellow cotton shirt, cropped pants and sandals. She added a splash of cologne for courage, then traded her discreet pearl studs for cloisonné earrings that dangled just enough to frame her face. Satisfied, and refusing to primp one more second, she checked on the lasagna. It was ready. Taking a deep breath, she convinced herself that she was, too.

“Okay, boys,” she addressed the dogs. “I’ll be right back.”

Cocking their black and white heads in identical positions, they watched her leave.

“Welcome, neighbor,” she muttered to herself as she approached his house. “No, that sounds like I’m from Mayberry. Welcome to the neighborhood. That’s better. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks.”

Emma jerked her gaze from the benign sidewalk to the not-so-benign expression on Seth’s face. “Um, hello.”

“Hello.”

She stared back at him.

He smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re at a loss for words.”

She blushed with remembered embarrassment. Great. All she could do apparently was babble or stare. “No. Not at all. I’ve come to say welcome.”

His eyebrows lifted so slightly she wondered if she imagined it.

“Again, thank you.”

Emma waved the tips of her oven mitts. “This just came out of the oven. I hope you like lasagna.”

“Yeah. I do. But I’m not sick.”

“It’s not chicken soup. And from experience, I know it’s hard enough to unpack without having to cook.”

“So you cooked for me?”

That assessment seemed too personal, so she lifted the lasagna. “Could we put this in your kitchen?”

“Sure.” He started to reach for the dish.

She pulled it back a few inches. “It’s too hot to handle without the mitts.”

He turned and opened his kitchen door for her.

Emma’s first impression was disappointment. The room was so bland, without any personality. But, of course, he hadn’t had time to decorate. She put the casserole on the cool, empty range burners. “Looks like you haven’t started dinner.”

“No. I’m not into cooking.”

Which meant he probably lived here alone. But she refused to give into the temptation to pry. “When I first moved here I lived on takeout. Some of the neighbors brought cookies, but even I can’t live on sugar and chocolate alone.”

He pointed to a counter piled with plates of cookies, brownies, pies and cakes. Maybe Cindy was right. The word must have gotten out to the single women of Rosewood: handsome, single man on Elm Street. Catch him while he’s fresh.

But Emma didn’t rise to the obvious. “I hope you have a gallon of milk to wash those down with.”

He grimaced.

“Or coffee,” she amended. Self-consciously, she gripped the oven mitts.

“That’s one staple I’m never without. Would you like a cup?”

“I don’t know, I—”

“You aren’t going to leave me to polish off these delicacies by myself, are you?”

Emma didn’t know how to flirt. She was so out of touch, she wasn’t even certain that’s what he was doing. But then it was coffee, not a date. “I guess I could have a cup,” she conceded.

Again she thought she saw that barely visible motion with his brows. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“No. But having a cookie won’t spoil my appetite.”

He scrounged around the counter, finally coming up with two mugs. “Good. Then we can have the lasagna for dessert.”

She flushed. “I don’t mean to impose. I made the casserole for you…and, well, your family.” She stood abruptly, poised to flee.

“No family,” he replied shortly, shifting back into his earlier intense mood.

She was mortified. “I’m not trying to pry.” Her words were stiff. “I’m a private person myself and I don’t appreciate it when well-meaning people poke around in my personal affairs.”

His gaze appraised her. “No harm. No foul. You’d have seen soon enough that I live here alone.”

Because of their close proximity. Which meant he would know the same about her soon enough. “Me, too,” she blurted. “Live alone, I mean. Except for my dogs.”

“The hole-in-the-wall gang; I remember.”

Her nervousness lessened a touch. “Yes. But they’re not breaking and entering today. I left them in the house.”

“They don’t shred your place while you’re gone?”

She smiled. “They have their moments, but for the most part they’re well behaved.”

He didn’t argue the point. “I hope you don’t mind paper plates.”

“Not at all.” There weren’t any moving cartons in the kitchen. Either he’d already unpacked or there was little in the way of dinnerware to fill the cabinets. She wondered if he was recently single.

He put two mugs on the bar beside the disposable plates and plastic forks. Certainly no sense of cozy home and hearth. Her guilt multiplied. She should have made this visit earlier.

Climbing onto the bar stool he indicated, she realized at the last moment that Seth would be sitting close beside her rather than across the safe length of a table. Unaccustomed these past years to a male presence, she caught her breath when his arm brushed hers as he sat on the adjoining stool, then scooped out two generous portions of lasagna. He was tall…tall and powerfully built. Her nerves jumped to alert.

“I hope you like the lasagna…most people like my spaghetti sauce. I use lots of fresh vegetables and let it simmer for hours. And I make a really huge vat, enough so that I can freeze some in smaller containers. And, like this time, I make up some lasagna…I have to bring a casserole to a potluck Saturday night, so I’ll use some of it then.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry. Am I babbling? I babble when I’m…well, when I meet new people.” Men, she added to herself. But none had affected her like this. No doubt it was how close he was. Both beside her now and living in the house next door.

“Don’t apologize. At best I’m not much of a conversationalist. And I don’t know anything about cooking.”

“It’s not usually my favorite subject, either.” She poked her fork into the melted cheese on her lasagna. “Actually, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Wariness tinged his dark eyes.

“Yes. I own a costume and design shop in town, Try It On. That’s the name of the shop, I mean. And I’m thinking of adding on to it. When I first bought the space it seemed more than adequate, but I’m outgrowing it.”

“Business must be good.”

“Yes, actually, it is. But we can barely turn around now. I’ve resisted the inevitable, but I think it’s time I take the plunge.” She met his curious eyes. “Which is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He studied her. “Why me?”

“Well, Michael Carlson recommended you.”

“You know him?”

She nodded.

“This is a small town.”

“Yes, but I’ve found that to be a good thing in most ways.”

“Hmm. So tell me about this shop of yours.”

Warming to her favorite subject, Emma described at length her business and the store’s layout. “And my assistant, Tina, is certain we’ll pull in even more business now that I’ve started designing storefront displays. You know, like the first time we met.”

His gaze caught hers and she was sharply reminded of the encounter, that intense vulnerability she’d felt.

He glanced away, picking up his coffee. “When do you want a bid on the work?”

She blinked. “I hadn’t decided.”

“My schedule’s open right now.”

But it probably wouldn’t be for long, she realized, with Michael’s glowing recommendation. If she was going to do this, she needed to do more than wade at the shore. It was time to dive in. “Tomorrow then?”

He met her eyes again and she warmed under his intent gaze. “Tomorrow.”