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Craig took a deep breath. “Yes, before she died.”
“Sometime last winter, I guess.”
“Okay, she needs another fill-up.”
“Why, is she alive again?” He cackled, a sure sign he wasn’t taking Craig seriously.
“Since when did you turn into the town’s comedian? Her granddaughter is staying here, and there’s no more fuel. She’s freezing. When can you make a delivery?”
“Who’s paying for it? I already closed Mrs. Lowery’s account.”
“You’ll get your money from the granddaughter.”
“Okay, I’ll make it my last delivery today. Say, isn’t she the Lowery gal you were sweet on?”
“The pipes are freezing, Marty.”
“She’s back in town and you’ve got another girlfriend?”
“Take care of it, Marty.”
“Cyndi Parker, isn’t it? I remember her doing all those splits and backflips as the head cheerleader.”
“Just deliver the oil.” Craig disconnected the call. Living all your life in a small town had definite disadvantages. Who else had been tracking his love life?
About to return the key to its not-so-secret hiding place, Craig stopped. Perfect time to check out that secretary and find that note. He went to the living room and lowered the large desktop just as a car pulled into the drive. Great. Trish was back.
Craig returned the large panel and headed for the front door. He opened it as Trish walked up the stairs with Dave Henry following her. This might be a good chance to get the price for the secretary.
“Found out why there’s no heat. You ran out of fuel. I ordered a fill-up from Marty Cassidy’s Homefuel. It should arrive later today.”
Trish paused by the open door, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I never even thought about that. Thank you.” She walked past him, motioning Dave to follow. “I’m making lunch—warm soup so Dave and I can defrost. Have the men come back from the fire?” When Craig shook his head, she added, “Would you like some soup or are you going back on the roof?”
His crew would probably stop for food after returning from the fire, and he didn’t want to miss out on lunch. “Warm soup sounds fine.” Once in the kitchen, Craig leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, while Trish pulled out packages from the refrigerator. All the ingredients looked like his favorites, and he wondered if she had bought them for him. “You making grilled cheese?”
She grinned. “Of course. Can’t have tomato soup without grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“With ham?” He moved closer and opened one of the wrapped packages from Drexel’s Deli. “You remembered?” That had always been their preferred treat. “The grill still in the same old place?” When she nodded, he headed for the pantry.
Sure enough, the grill was right where he remembered. A little dusty. Probably hadn’t been used in years. He placed it on the counter and opened a drawer filled with dish towels. After a wipe-down, he plugged it in.
“You’re sure familiar with everything,” Dave said, coming over to stand by the counter. His gray winter parka was zipped to his neck even though the room had to be close to sixty degrees, despite no additional heat.
When the doorbell rang, Trish glanced at Craig. “You think that could be the oil delivery?”
“Doubt it. Marty said he’d do it on his last run. Why don’t you answer the door, and I’ll get started on the soup.” He headed back to the pantry, where he’d seen several cans. After checking the dates, he realized all the cans were new. He smiled and started to whistle, right up until he heard her gasp of delight.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_c5ccdff3-9273-5d93-93bc-3a80b58d3ebe)
“HARRISON! WHAT ARE you doing here? Come in and relax.” She pulled at his red tie so it wasn’t so tight around his neck, something he’d never allow on the job. “Here in my house, the casual look fits perfectly. You fit perfectly.” She couldn’t stop smiling. He was handsome in his dark gray suit. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I missed you.” He grabbed her hands then looked down at them. “Your hands are freezing.” He pulled her into a loving embrace and kissed her with a fervor she appreciated and rarely experienced from him.
Since they worked together and their company frowned on any fraternization between employees, they always maintained a proper working relationship. Even when they had total privacy, he never showed the same tendency to hug and give affection the way Trish did. Maybe their short separation had ignited some romantic flames. “Even your lips are cold. You been working outside?”
“No. It’s just that we don’t have heat.”
When he gave her his “I told you so” look, she slipped outside, still holding his hand. “Come on.” She hopped down the porch stairs and looked at the house. “What do you think?”
“So this is the relic?” Harrison stood, hands on hips, and looked at the house her great-grandfather had designed and built around the turn of the twentieth century. His son, her grandfather, had added his own imprint, making it a showpiece. “Wow. Is that what they call gingerbread?”
“I suppose some of it is. My grandfather liked to work with wood and—”
“It’s coming off, right? No one needs all that fancy trim nowadays, and a lot of it is just hanging there.”
“No, it’s not coming off.” Sure, some of the pieces had broken away, but Craig had assured her he could replace them.
Harrison raised his eyebrows. “You mean you won’t change any of this...” He swished his hand in an arc toward the house. “...this...”
Trish ground her teeth a moment before deciding to add her own comment. “Don’t say it. I mean it, Harrison. I love this place, and it’s important for me, so keep any negative opinions to yourself.”
Clamping his lips together, he nodded and placed an arm around her shoulders, pointing to the flag flipping around in the breeze. “Is that for something special?”
“Check out the neighborhood, Harrison.” Trish swung her arm around to take in all the houses on the street. “Everyone’s flying them because it’s Veterans Day.”
He shrugged but didn’t offer any other comment.
When she escorted him back inside, past the wide circular staircase and into the living room, she hoped to spark some enthusiasm for the old place. He remained unimpressed, but at least he didn’t offer more criticism. She warmed only slightly to another of his embraces. “What?” he asked. “I’m in the doghouse now for not jumping on your bandwagon?”
Trish sighed. How could she expect him to love this Victorian house when he had none of her memories? She cuddled against him and smiled when he pulled her back into his arms.
“You’re planning to spend a month here? I don’t see how it’s possible to fix all that needs to be done in that time.”
“I’ve hired a handyman. He’ll do most of the work.”
“How do you know he’s any good?” Harrison nuzzled her cheek. “I don’t want you to end up with more of a mess and possibly get cheated.”
Trish appreciated his concern. “It’s okay. I grew up with him, and he’s the best.”
“Good,” Harrison said, moving slightly away and brushing his hand through her hair. “Then you won’t have to stay here. My main concern has been you being so far away from—”
“Anyone hungry?”
Harrison and Trish jumped apart. Harrison was the first to recover. He strode toward the intruder, his fist clenched as though he planned to strike. “Who are you?”
“Right now I’m the cook. Lunch is served in the kitchen.” Craig made a quick pivot and disappeared into the hallway.
Trish grasped Harrison’s arm and felt the tension there. “That’s my handyman, Craig Cadman.”
“And he cooks?”
Trish patted his arm, hoping to relieve the unexpected hostility. “Not usually. Let’s go eat.”
* * *
SO THIS IS the fiancé, Craig thought as he returned to the kitchen.
Dave looked up from stirring the soup on the stove. “What was that? Is she okay?”
“Yeah.” He stopped speaking when Harrison and Trish walked in.
“I’d like you both to meet my fiancé, Harrison Morris.”
Craig offered his hand. “I’m Craig, the handyman.”
Dave came around, also extending his hand. “And I’m Dave, the antiques man.” He gave Craig a wink and went back to stirring the soup. “Do we have bowls for this?”
Trish picked up four of the china bowls she’d washed. “Do we have to use those?” Dave asked. “I thought I was buying them.”
Trish laughed and brought the bowls to the table. “They’ve gone through hundreds of meals over the past seventy-five years. I’ll wash them when we’re through, and as long as no one starts to juggle them, they should make it without any problem.” After opening several drawers, she placed napkins and spoons by the bowls.
Dave sighed, then went back for the pot of soup.
“What’s this?” Harrison thrust his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I planned on taking you out for lunch. And instead we’re settling for soup in a freezing kitchen.” He managed a convincing shiver and paused before adding, “With the help.” A moment later Harrison started laughing. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m sorry, guys. I just never expected...” He offered Trish a chair before taking one himself. “Let’s just do it. I took an extended lunch hour, and I need to get back to the city.”
Craig brought the grilled sandwiches to the table while Dave dished out the soup. At any moment Craig expected his crew to return. And he didn’t want an interruption, not when he had an opportunity to observe Harrison. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Craig, Harrison had trimmed dark hair that hadn’t started to thin, even though he was older than everyone else at the table. He looked as though he worked out, probably in some office gym.
What did Trish see in him? Was he the right one for her?
Craig reached for his sandwich and let old memories wash over him. “Remember when we sat in this kitchen, eating our favorite meal with your grandmother’s cookies baking in the oven?”
Trish grinned and pointed to her mouthful. She swallowed before adding, “Yes. Dozens of times.” She glanced at Harrison before concentrating on her sandwich again. He looked miffed.
Craig decided continuing down memory lane might not be the best idea. But Trish did remember. Was she experiencing the same nostalgia? Was the same knot tying up her insides?
He put down the sandwich, not able to deal with what was lost and could never be.
* * *
“SO, WHAT DO you think this secretary is worth?” Trish asked Dave.
He started to reply, but Harrison came over and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from Dave. “When I come here in the future, I’ll expect one of your home-cooked specialties.” He gave Craig a look that could only mean the meal he’d just consumed wasn’t up to par. “Really sorry I’ll be missing out on Thanksgiving.”
Did Trish know how to cook? She used to help her grandmother, but back then they were always happy with nothing fancier than a plate of cookies. Craig turned his attention back to the secretary. What would he do if Dave discovered the note? What would Harrison do? Laugh himself inside out?
“I’m sorry you’ll miss it, too.” She and Harrison embraced only a few feet away from him. Did Harrison really have to act so touchy-feely in front of everyone? And did Trish have to enjoy it so much?
“You’ll only have one day to help me paint?” Trish looked away, and Craig saw the hurt in her eyes. The rat.
“Right. I’m taking all of that Sunday off. We can get most of it done then.”
Sure. One day of painting and they’d be lucky to complete one room out of the half dozen that needed work. Didn’t the guy know anything about how long it took to mix the paint, put up tape, cover the walls, trim the woodwork and clean up afterward?
Harrison kissed her again on the cheek, and Craig considered bashing him in the head with one of the antique ornate brass lamps. As much as he wanted to know more about the secretary, Craig felt like leaving.
“Don’t your parents live in Chicago?” Trish asked. “Will you be joining them for Thanksgiving?”
“I may stop by, but it wouldn’t have much meaning if I can’t bring my fiancée.” Another embrace. At least her response was less than enthusiastic this time around. Was it the subject matter? Why wasn’t he taking her there to meet his family?
Trish managed to slip from under Harrison’s possessive arm and walked closer to Dave to re-ask her question. “So, what do you think, Dave? What kind of price can I get for the secretary?”
“Could one of you help me move it away from the wall? I’d like to see if there’s any signature or an indication of who might have made this. Do you have the history on this, Trish? Where it came from?” Craig moved over to the opposite side and helped swivel the large piece around to expose the back. Trish joined him.
“It’s always been here. I think Gram mentioned once her grandfather bought it for his wife as an anniversary gift. In fact, most of the items in the house were purchased by her father’s parents or grandparents. Gram didn’t see the point in replacing anything with a newer model unless the old one no longer served the purpose.” Trish chuckled. “She did upgrade to a flat-screen TV, though.”
“Oh, my!” Dave traced his finger on a faded mark while everyone else came over to see what had intrigued him. “This WW is from Willard Williams, a cabinetmaker back in the early eighteenth century. What a find! I’ll have to do a little more research, but we’re talking thousands. Especially since it’s in pristine condition.”
Thousands! Craig caught his breath and wondered how he’d ever come up with that much money for something that served no practical purpose.
Harrison again embraced Trish. Dollar signs must be floating in his head. Can’t she see where his interest lies?
Dave came around to the front and pulled down the writing section. “Yes, this is definitely Willard’s. See all the carved leaves and flowers on the drawers? And if I remember... Yes, the one with an animal opens...” Dave reached for the tiny carved squirrel and tried twisting and turning the decoration. Nothing happened.
To Craig’s total relief. Sweat trickled down his back. Had the heat kicked in? He searched for any excuse to leave. “I think the crew has returned. I’d better get back to work.”
“Thanks for lunch,” Trish said.
“You provided the ingredients. Dave and I merely threw them together.”
She reached for his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” When she disentangled herself from Harrison, he gave Craig a fish-eyed glare but didn’t join them.
“The meal brought back great memories, Trish. Thank you.”
“And it tasted just as good as when Gram served it.” Trish chuckled. “I don’t think Harrison appreciated it much.”
“How could he? It’s only special to us.” Craig reached in his pocket and pulled out her key. “I didn’t get a chance to put it back.”
She took it from him, gripping his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Her fingers felt cold in his.
“You might not want to keep it in such an obvious place. Especially if what Dave said is true. Your antiques have some great value.” He held on to the old-fashioned metal a moment longer while he thought about it.
“Yeah, what a surprise.” Trish removed the key from his hand. “I’ll find a better hiding place.”
“You know, you really need these locks upgraded to dead bolts.”
“But this works well.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”
Surprised that she’d be affectionate in front of Harrison, Craig turned toward her just as Harrison came over and placed an arm around her shoulders. As he pulled her out of Craig’s reach, he said, “He’s right. Dead bolts are a must.”
