Читать книгу The Carpenter's Wife - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 9

“So you’re meeting Ana at four, then?”

Rock’s mother fluttered around her kitchen, adjusting a set of wind chimes here, fixing a fresh bouquet of lilies there. She smiled and hummed as she fussed and fixed, the constant breezes flowing through the many open windows causing strands of her grayish-white upswept hair to pull away from the elaborate shell-encrusted silver combs she used to hold it off her face.

She had always reminded Rock of an elusive butterfly, never settling on just one blossom.

“This is just work, Mom,” Rock replied. “Don’t go reading anything else into this. It’s strictly business.”

“Business which I sent your way,” Eloise reminded him as she poured him a glass of mint-flavored sun tea. “Want another sandwich?”

“No, but thanks for the meal—and the business. It’s not every day I get two meals and a huge project from you.”

Eloise stopped fidgeting. “I’m trying to make things up to you, Rock, on both scores.”

Rock nodded, wished he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. “I do appreciate your efforts, Mother. I can always use the steady work. And…as long as you’re willing to feed me now and again, I can work on…my other issues, too, I suppose.”

“Good,” Eloise said as she swished back to the sink, her multi-patterned cotton skirt lifting out like soft handkerchiefs around her ankles. “A minister shouldn’t have issues.”

“Ministers are only human,” Rock replied. “And in spite of my faith in God, I still have questions that only He can answer.”

“Well, one day you shall have all your answers,” his mother said, smiling. “Rock, you know I’m so proud of you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m proud of all my boys.”

Eloise got a faraway look in her crystal blue eyes.

“Haven’t heard from Stone lately, huh?”

“No. But you know Stone. He doesn’t allow for much chitchat. And he’s so busy.”

“I know. Amassing his fortune.”

“Don’t be bitter, Rock.”

“I’m not bitter. Stone has his life and I have mine. I’m content right here on the island.”

Eloise pulled dead heads off a nearby pink begonia. “Stone was never content living on the island. Savannah suits him much better.”

Rock took a long drink from the tea, the sweet mint taste going down smooth in spite of the turmoil he always felt when talk turned to his brother, Stone. “I’m sure it does. And we all want Stone to be happy.”

“That’s exactly what I want—for all my sons. At least Clay seems to be thriving with the police department in Atlanta.”

“Clay has always been a happy-go-lucky, hardworking fellow.”

“He has a good heart.”

“I couldn’t agree more. In fact, I think Clay got the heart that Stone never had.”

Eloise gave him a mock glare. “Stone has a heart. He just doesn’t like to show it. I only want all of you to…find love, the kind of love I had with your father.”

Not wanting to get into a long discussion on that topic because talking about her late husband always seemed to upset Eloise, Rock said, “So is that why you’re throwing me at your friend Ana Hanson?”

Eloise reached for a yellow watering pitcher sitting in the bay window over the sink. Outside, a seagull cawed noisily in a low fly-by. “Who said I was throwing you at her? I just suggested you’d be perfect to help design her tea room, is all.”

Rock chuckled. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me she was young and pretty…and apparently single?”

His mother gave an eloquent shrug, her dangling turquoise feathered earrings brushing against the crocheted lace of her cream-colored linen tunic. “I figured if I told you about Ana, you’d clam up like a crab in a sand hole and refuse the job.”

“I never turn down paying customers.”

“Even cute…available ones?”

“Okay, I might have been a little hesitant if I’d known Ana was close to my age and single. But I have to admit, she is very pretty.” He finished off the tea. “She is single, right?”

“Very much so,” Eloise replied, her smile widening to reveal an endearing gap between her front teeth. “So, is that or the fact that she is attractive, smart, capable and…available going to hinder your working for her?”

“Probably,” he said. “But then, it might just make it interesting, too. As Auguste Renoir said, ‘Why should beauty be suspect?”’

“That’s the spirit,” Eloise replied, clasping her hands together. “Well, then, if you don’t want some fruit and yogurt for dessert, I’ll go back to my own work.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Got to get moving.”

Eloise whirled by, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Rock watched as his mother moved gracefully over the steps leading from the wraparound porch and walked down the path to what had once been a horse stable, her soft leather walking sandals making very little noise.

The gardens were in full bloom—the fuchsia bougainvillea, the rich red hibiscus trees, the crape myrtle and azaleas all splashing together like a bright abstract painting underneath the Spanish moss of the ancient oak trees. And his mother in her feathered turquoise jewelry and flowing broomstick skirt fit right into the picture. Beautiful.

That made him think again of Ana Hanson. His mother had left out one trait he thought he recognized in the petite auburn-haired dynamo—ambition. And he remembered another favorite quote from a long-dead philosopher: “Beauty and folly are generally companions.”

She’d come here for companionship. For the warm ocean breezes and wonderful, salty mist of the sea. She’d come here to put down roots and settle in like the sea oats that flowed in wheat-colored patterns down on the dunes.

“I’m going to be a success,” Ana promised herself as she glanced around the large near-empty kitchen of her tea room. “I have to make this work.”

“I think you’re off to a good start,” Jackie Welsh, her just-hired assistant said as she passed by and grabbed her purse off the counter. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to begin training Tina and the other servers.”

“Thanks,” Ana told the tall brunette. “I appreciate your help so much.”

She’d hired Jackie a few days ago, and already they were able to read each other’s minds. She’d need that kind of connection when things got to hopping around here.

Glancing at her watch, she mentally went over her to-do list while she waited for Rock Dempsey. The two-bedroom upstairs apartment was done. Everything was unpacked and in place, and the entire staff had been hired. Over the next month or so, they’d help set things up and learn the menus and recipes by heart. Next week, the furnishings for the shop and tea room would start arriving. She’d have plenty to keep her busy then. Especially if Rock was here every day, measuring and building.

Just thinking of his big, muscular frame in the middle of her dainty treasures made Ana smile. It felt good to smile. She’d been so focused on this venture over the past few months, she’d forgotten how to relax. But now, she was here at last. Here in her own place, with her own living quarters—no roommates, no rent to pay—just a big mortgage that her sister had helped finance—she had no one to answer to except herself. She’d finally accomplished her dream.

Now she had to make that dream work.

She envisioned the wicker bistro tables she’d found at a clearance sale sitting here and there in what once had been the parlor of the house. She saw intimate groupings out on the long porch, where diners would have a clear view of the glistening bay down the sloping yard to the dunes. She’d put some nice cushiony rocking chairs out there, too.

Glancing down at the big bay, Ana saw a sailboat glide by like a giant blue and white butterfly. Maybe she could go sailing herself soon. It had been a long time since she’d sailed out on the water with the sun on her face.

A knock at the stained-glass front door caused her to jump. Not one for woolgathering, Ana scooted across the room, her espadrilles barely making a click on the polished wooden floors. Adjusting her clothes and hair, she opened the door to find Rock standing there in jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with Save the West Island Lighthouse Summer Jam Session.

“Hi,” she said, smiling as she ignored the way her pulse seemed to quicken each time he looked at her. Then she pointed to the image of the old West Island Lighthouse on his shirt. “You, too, huh? Eloise told me several islanders are working to renovate the lighthouse. And I read about the jam session in that Greta woman’s column. That should be a challenge, from what I hear—raising funds for renovation.”

He entered the room, ran his gaze over the pale cream painted walls and the feminine wallpaper border that depicted shoes, hats and purses from the turn of the century. Then he turned to her.

“I like a good challenge.”

“Well, then, you’ll love the job I have for you,” she replied, her nerves stretching as tight as the rigging on a sail. “I hope…I think I have everything in order.” With a wave of her hand, she strolled around the empty rooms. “As you can see, the walls and floors are done. And I’ve ordered some armoires and side-buffets for displays. They should be here any day now. The major appliances are all brand-new and industrial size—those will be installed this week. Mainly, I need you to take a look at the kitchen cabinets and tell me if they can be salvaged. And I’d like you to maybe redo the walk-in pantry and build some functional shelves in the kitchen, too.”

Rock stood listening, his gaze once again moving over the central hallway and two long open rooms on each side of the front of the house. “The original parlor and dining room—this will be the restaurant area?”

“Yes, diners will be seated in both rooms, but our artwork and other wares will be displayed on the walls and all around the dining tables. Then we have a room in the back for private parties, which will also display a collection of antiques and art. The cash register will be here in the vestibule by the front door. I found an antique counter in an old drugstore in Savannah. It’s being shipped.” She pointed to an open door off the rear of the hallway. “And I have a small office right across from the kitchen. There’s a bathroom back there, too.”

He nodded, made notes on a small pad. “You seem to like the Victorian era.”

“I do,” she said, grinning. “I’ve always loved old things, all periods of history. Maybe because I read a lot growing up—stories of long ago, all about valor and romance.”

“Oh?” He stopped writing and glanced up at her. “I’d figure you’d have been too busy chasing off boys who wanted their own valor and romance, to sit around reading books.”

Blushing, Ana shook her head. “My sister got all the boys. I got my romantic ideas from books.”

He stopped scribbling to stare at her. “I reckon you do look like a Jane Austen kind of girl—all Sense and Sensibility.”

Unsure if that was a compliment, Ana replied, “I’m a little old-fashioned and sensible, but I try not to live in the past.”

“‘The tender grace of a day that is dead…will never come back to me.”’

Stunned, Ana shrugged. It was as if Rock had hit on her deepest, most bittersweet memories with the precision of cupid’s arrow. “That’s…very melancholy.”

“Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” Rock explained. “This house has a tender grace. Maybe it will bring you a little romance…and some comfort.”

Comfort? Was that what she’d been seeking all her life? Ana pushed at the dark memories blocking out the rays of hope in her mind. “Romance I doubt. But I guess I could use some comfort. Anyway, I love this house. And I’m thrilled to be here on the island. We used to vacation here with my parents. I fell in love with Sunset Island and I’ve always wanted to come back.”

“You came from Savannah?”

“Yes. We lived out from Savannah, near Fort Stewart. My parents still live there in a house on the Canoochee River. Tara—that’s my sister—and I attended college at Savannah State.” She stopped, took a breath. “I was a senior when she was a freshman. She got married a year later and never finished college. After I graduated, I moved to Savannah to work in the art gallery.” She lowered her eyes, stared at an aged spot in the floor, memories as rich as the lacquer on the wood coloring her mind. “Anyway, now I’m here. I’m moving forward, even if I do like things from the past.”

Ana quieted, thinking she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of this. And maybe she was. She still had hurtful memories from her college days, memories that had colored her whole adult life and her rocky relationship with her younger sister. But she was determined to make a new start, with both her life and her sister.

“The past can be good,” Rock said, his keen eyes sweeping over her face. “As long as we keep it in perspective.”

“Oh, I keep it in perspective, all right. I don’t want to ever go back there.”

“Bad memories?”

Ana looked up at him, saw the sincere curiosity in his beautiful eyes. “Some.” Lots. But she wasn’t about to tell him any of that. She ruffled her hair with her hand. “Do you want to see the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

She started toward the back of the house, heard him behind her, then willed her heart and her head to stay calm. Ana reminded herself that she’d given her heart to a man once, only to have it returned bruised and battered.

She would never make that mistake again. Even if this handsome preacher named Rock did cause her to think of romantic things like strolling on the beach at sunset and intimate dinners by candlelight.

Ana would stick to her art, her cooking and her books. Those were safe, tangible things.

Love wasn’t safe. That “tender grace,” as Rock had quoted, would never come back to her again. She was all business now. And all on her own.

If only Rock Dempsey’s eyes would stop looking at her with that anything-but-business gaze.

This woman meant business.

Rock had measured, suggested, tested, rearranged, gauged and decided on what could be done for the beautiful old cabinets in the long, sunny kitchen. A good stripping of old paint, some new hardware and a lot of wood restorer and varnish would make them shine like new. That part had been easy.

But testing and gauging Ana Hanson—ah, therein lay the challenge of this assignment.

She had been hurt somewhere in the past. Maybe during her childhood, maybe during her college years. But something had left her unsure and unsteady, even if she did try to present a calm, capable facade to the world.

Rock had no doubt she was capable. She seemed as intent on making her tea room a popular tourist attraction as his mother did on creating intriguing artifacts from rocks and stones. That ability to focus should serve as a warning to Rock. Ana held many of the traits he’d seen too many times in his mother—that tendency to shut everything out, that need to finish the work, create the next sculpture piece, or, in Ana’s case, create a haven for fine art and good food.

There was nothing wrong with that. But Rock wondered if Ana was pouring all of her strength into this new venture because she was running from the past. Running from herself, just as his mother had done most of her life.

Turning to see where she’d flittered off to this time, Rock found Ana standing on a footstool wiping one of the big bay windows in the front parlor. He almost called out to her, but then the way the last of the sun’s rays were gleaming all around her from the open west window on the other side of the room caused him to stop and just watch.

She stood in the soft wind, her dark red hair shining in the soft afternoon sun. Her skin was glistening with a golden creaminess. She’d changed clothes since this morning and now her long floral skirt moved around her like a flower garden.

Rock took this picture in, and realized it had been way too long since he’d been out on a date with a pretty woman. And taking old Miss McPherson to the seafood market once a week didn’t count.

“You hungry?” he heard himself saying.

Ana turned, almost too fast. She nearly fell off the stepstool. Rock wasn’t fast enough to catch her, and he was glad. That would have been a classic romantic way of getting her into his arms—too obvious.

But since he didn’t want to look unchivalrous, he did step forward. “Steady there.”

“I’m fine,” Ana said, stepping down from the stool to turn and stare at him as she pushed her hair away from her eyes. “I must have misunderstood you, though. I thought you asked me if I was hungry.”

“No misunderstanding. I did—ask you that, I mean.”

She stood there with her hands on her hips, an almost doubting glare on her pretty face. “Why did you—ask?”

So she was the suspicious type. “No particular reason, other than it’s getting dark and…I only had a sandwich for lunch. I was thinking about fried catfish out at the Sunken Pier. Ever been there?”

“No.”

“No, you’ve never been there, or no, you aren’t hungry, or just plain ‘no, I don’t want to have dinner with you, Rock’?”

“No to the first, yes to the second, and…I’m not sure to the last part.”

He crossed his hands over his chest, his trusty pocket notepad clutched in one hand. Then he leaned forward, offering up what he hoped was his best smile. “Why aren’t you sure? It’s just a meal. We can go over the cabinet plans again.”

She frowned, looked around. “I guess we do need to finalize everything—set your hours, your fee, things like that.”

“Exactly. A business dinner.”

“Strictly business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way.”

He liked the trace of disappointment that had scurried through her green eyes. But he wouldn’t dare tell her that since she’d walked into his shop this morning, he had at least thought of having things another way—besides the strictly business way, that is.

“I’ll freshen up and get my purse,” she said, clearly as confused and unsure as she’d been two minutes ago. “We won’t be late, will we? I have so much paperwork—contracts with food vendors, inventory sheets to check over—”

“I’ll have you home at a reasonable hour, I promise.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay, then.”

“You know, Mark Twain said principles have no real force except when one is well fed.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “And you are clearly a man of principle.”

“That I am. And manners. My mama taught me both.”

“That I can believe,” she said, her expression softening. “I trust your mother’s opinion and her good judgment of character, even if you are her son and she has to recommend you on that basis alone. I think I’ll be safe with you.”

“Completely.”

But as Rock watched her hurry up the narrow staircase, he had to wonder how much he could trust his mother’s judgment. After all, Eloise had brought Ana and him together for her own maternal reasons.

And now Rock was worried about those reasons and about how being with this shy, old-fashioned woman made him feel.

The real question was—would he be safe with Ana Hanson?