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“It’s not an earth-shattering mix-up,” Gerald reassured. “Could happen to anyone. It might put your mind more at ease to say we’re friends.” He raised a brow and let a slow smile creep across his face. “But I’d need to know your name.”
“How remiss of me,” she said with a chuckle, offering her hand to shake. “Ivy York, bridesmaid.”
“Yes, so I see.” He folded her hand in his for a proper moment before letting it go. “Friend or family?”
“A close friend.”
Noah turned abruptly, and stalked toward the door. “Gotta get going. Nice to meet you again, Ivy. I’ll have a couple of men clean up the garden tomorrow morning, Gerry.”
Gerald’s tone sharpened. “What about the lower grounds, Noah?”
At the door to the hall, Noah turned, his hand on the knob. “I’ll, uh, be back in a couple of days to clean out the fish pond and winterize it. And I’ll arrange for the tree trimmers to prune that eastern slope. The other matter…”
“Will take care of itself in due time,” Gerald finished for him, leaning back lazily on the sofa. He smiled at Ivy, dismissing Noah.
“No doubt,” Noah agreed with a note of sarcasm as he closed the door behind him.
Feeling even more like an interloper, Ivy sipped her water and allowed her gaze to roam the room again, taking in details she’d overlooked the first time. A sheaf of paperwork lay scattered across the desk and a stack of old wooden picture frames leaned against the desk leg. Even from yards away she knew they needed repair. Rising, she bent to examine them.
“These are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the worn gold leaf along the raised edges on the largest. “Eighteen-nineties to…maybe early twenties, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”
“It’s my business to know,” she said, glancing up. His gaze held interested surprise. “I deal with good framers, good suppliers. Um, are you looking for someone to repair these?”
“Actually, I hadn’t yet thought about them much.” He rose to stand nearby and stare at the frames. “I could always sell them, I suppose. Do you know of someone who specializes in repairing old wood?”
“Yes. Here,” she grabbed a ballpoint from a holder and scribbled on a Post-it pad. “I’ll give you his name. I think he can do a good job for you. Can’t think of his phone number off the top of my head, but if you want to call my shop Monday, I can give it to you.”
“You own a shop, eh? What kind?”
“An interior design store, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’, in Brookside.” She set her glass on the tea trolley, and smiled. “Thanks again, Mr. Reeves, for the water. But I really have to go back to the bride now, or they’ll be sending out the bloodhounds in search for me.”
She slipped out into the almost empty service hall and from there into the main foyer, where the bride’s sister caught up with her.
“There you are, Ivy,” Kathy said, annoyed. “Where have you been? We’re wanted in the gazebo for pictures.”
“All right, I’m coming.”
Kathy didn’t wait. She sailed forward through the milling crowd without looking back.
Following Kathy out a side door, Ivy headed across the lawn toward the white-columned structure set among maples, red oaks, dogwoods and redbud trees in autumn splendor. She paused to pull in a deep breath, letting the beauty flow through her; God really was the best decorator ever, she mused. Nothing could compare with the sight before her.
One of the groomsmen waved her to hurry. Hit with sudden exhilaration, Ivy picked up her skirt and sprinted down the gentle slope, her skirt billowing behind. A deep masculine laughter trailed her. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering at its source.
Noah Thornton. He stood in the half-shadowed doorway of a rear porch watching her. She couldn’t imagine what about her amused him so, but she wouldn’t let it bother her. Not a bit. After today, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again.
She ran faster. He laughed harder.
She refused to give him another glance.
Chapter Two (#ulink_e048b3ae-450c-5dfa-83a4-3bf5480708c8)
“Hello, can I help you?” Ivy asked, approaching the smartly dressed young woman who was examining a wall of original watercolors by a number of local artists Ivy supported. Her classic features and silky shoulder-length fall of blond hair looked familiar; Ivy tried to remember if they’d ever met. “If you’re interested in one of these paintings, I can get it down for you.”
“Those faces done in blues and mauves are interesting. Unusual—but no, I don’t think so today,” the woman replied before turning and studying her a moment. “I’m Barbara Reeves. You were at Reeves House the other day and offered to give my brother the number of a framer who specializes in repairing old picture frames?”
A group of three entered the shop, two women and a child. Saturdays in the old-fashioned Brookside shopping neighborhood were usually Ivy’s busiest days and Tina had called in sick, leaving only Sherri and her to handle the crowd.
“Oh, yes.” Now Ivy knew why the woman looked familiar. In addition to the resemblance to her brother, her picture had been in the papers a dozen times in the society columns. Barbara Reeves headed up several charity affairs every year. “I’ll get it for you, but, um, can you wait a moment? My assistant is at lunch and I need to take care of the front counter.”
Barbara shrugged and wandered to the finely carved wood mantelpieces on another wall. “I’m not in a rush. You really do have a lovely shop here. I’d no idea…”
The door dinged again as other customers entered. Ivy finished her transactions with the two young women, and turned to help the next when a pounding alerted her that someone wanted her attention at the shop’s back door. Thankfully, Sherri, her most faithful help, returned just in time to answer it.
“Got a delivery,” Ivy heard a deep voice pronounce. Instant recognition danced across her consciousness, and she almost tripped over her own feet to look into the back room.
“Sherri, I’ll take care of this.” She smiled at the customer, then glanced at Barbara Reeves apologetically, murmuring “A moment more, please,” while she stepped into her crammed storage-cum-office area.
He looked bigger in the small room than he had outdoors. Taller and broader. At least he was neatly dressed in clean jeans and she had to admit the cherry-red shirt complemented his dark hair and eyes.
Holding a big cardboard box with the words Tomato Soup printed on its side atop his shoulder, he took time to look around with interest.
“Noah something, isn’t it?” she murmured.
He brought his gaze around to look at her. His mouth curved into a half smile with a disarming charm of gentle flirtation. His eyes glinted with an expression clearly intent on letting her know he didn’t believe her casual memory. “That’s right.”
Ivy pursed her mouth. She wouldn’t let that smile get to her—even while those sparkling brown eyes gave her tummy a dip. What was he doing here?
“You work for a gardening business, don’t you?”
“Something like that,” he said, his smile widening. He seemed to think they shared a joke, as though they played a game. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“Wait a minute.” She put up a defensive hand. Surely the man didn’t think she’d called him in an attempt to see him again, did he? But his knowing expression said that was exactly what he thought. Well, she’d put a stop to that bit of nonsense right now.
“I don’t recall ordering anything from you,” she said distinctly as if speaking to a child. “I don’t carry gardening equipment.”
“Well, at least you remember my line of work,” he replied, retaining a wry, teasing tone. He swung the box to the floor, taking up the three feet between them. “And like you, I own my business, The Old Garden Gate. Now, I have six outdoor wooden sculptures of trees and little critters for you. Great to hang on a porch wall or decorate a deck.”
“I specialize in interiors.”
He gave her a speculative look, causing her to smooth her hair behind one ear. “I sold one recently for a fireplace decoration.”
“But I didn’t order them,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, somebody ordered them. See?” He raised his brows and held out the small square of paper scribbled with the name of her shop and order. “Wall’s Intrigue. Dated last Monday.”
“Whose initials—” She glanced more closely at the carboned form and clamped her mouth shut. A.A. Aunt Arletta!
In any of her correspondence, notes, or gift tags to the family, her aunt never used her full name, Arletta York, she merely signed A.A. And here it was again. Surely Aunt Arletta wouldn’t interfere in the shop’s ordering lists again after Ivy scolded her for overflowing their supply of stained-glass bathroom wall fixtures?
The irrefutable evidence hung limply from between a masculine thumb and forefinger, waiting for her to accept it. Glancing into Noah’s face, she clamped her teeth on a flare of high irritation. The man was right about one thing; her aunt had probably ordered the merchandise to bring Noah and Ivy together again. Throwing her at men’s heads had become Aunt Arletta’s latest hobby.
They were usually nice enough men. Ivy simply wasn’t always enamored of Aunt Arletta’s taste. Or her tactics.
That wasn’t this man’s fault, she admonished herself.
“All right,” she said with a sigh. She might not like it, but she wouldn’t embarrass her aunt or Noah by refusing to honor the order. Ivy did wonder how she could corral Arletta without deeply wounding her feelings. The shop’s cash flow already ran closer to the zero line than was healthy. “Let’s see your merchandise.”
He bent to open the box, and brought out one of the objects for Ivy’s inspection. To her surprise, it was a wood carving from a chunk of oak of two bear cubs climbing a pine tree. And it was good. The work showed more rough talent than training, but it had great appeal.
All business now, she said, “Let me see the rest.”
Noah crouched down and pulled out the others—frogs and turtles, butterflies and birds, and dogwoods and tulips. Kneeling beside him, Ivy examined each one and glanced at Noah with renewed interest. “Did you do these?”
“Yeah, that one’s mine.” He stood and hung his thumbs from his jeans back pockets, watching her appraise the work. “A buddy and I do these in the winter when we don’t have a lot else going on. He’s the true artist, though. I just fill in my off-season time.”
“Mmm…” She might have a few customers who would go for the primitive work. “It’s the wrong season for most of these.”
She stood also, and glanced around at her stuffed-to-the-ceiling shelves. “I’m setting out my holiday stock next week. Have you anything for the Thanksgiving and Christmas shoppers? I can use more Christmas stock. I already have enough wreaths coming in, but if you could come up with something different, something with a flair, bring it in. Meanwhile, I’ll put out the bear and racoon and see what kind of interest it gets.”
“Fair enough.” He looked pleased. “Our outdoor work has slowed down quite a bit. I’ll talk to Matt and see what he suggests.”
“I thought I heard a familiar voice back this way,” Barbara Reeves said, ignoring the Private sign and pushing the door wider. “Noah, darling.” The blonde’s voice took on a near purr. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in weeks. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
Noah dropped his hands to his sides. Ivy wouldn’t have said he went on red alert, but she had a distinct impression of wariness.
“Hello, Barbara.” He smiled vaguely. “I’ve been pretty busy.”
“I called you last week,” Barbara said, flipping her silky hair back with long, well-manicured fingers. “Didn’t you get my message about the Shores’ dinner?”
“Guess not. My phones were out for a couple of hours one day while the phone company did some work up the road.”
“Well, I suppose that now your season has entered its resting phase, you’ll have more time to accept my invitations,” Barbara said with the familiarity of an old friend. “What about Saturday night?”
“Um…” He shifted his stance. “Have plans for Saturday.”
“Too bad. Can’t you break them?”
“Nope.” His gaze grew determined, but his tone softened, as though letting her down easy. “Plans are solid.”
Ivy felt she’d wandered into the middle of a twosome.
“Don’t count on me to make the rounds of your social circuit this year, Barbara,” Noah continued. “My winter schedule may be different from the heavier seasons, but it’s just as busy. In fact—” his glance touched Ivy with a spark of humor “—I’ve just joined a very active church where I expect to give quite a lot of my free time.”
Which church? An instant suspicion tickled Ivy’s spine. Was he talking about her church? Had Aunt Arletta done it again?
Aunt Arletta wasn’t above a top-drawer selling job when it came to campaigning for Grace Community Church, and true enough, they carried several very active programs to service the community as well as three worship services on Sunday and several Bible studies and prayer meetings during the week. But she might just tie a knot in Aunt Arletta’s panty hose if her aunt had been urging Noah to attend on her account.
“Ah, yes, soup kitchens and urchins, hmm?” Barbara said. “Well, perhaps another time. I have to run. Give me a call, Ms. York, when you have time to find that framer’s number, will you?”
“Would you like me to call the framer for you?” Ivy responded.
“Sure, why not? Just let me know.”
“I will. Thanks for coming in, Miss Reeves.”
Ivy turned back to Noah. He shrugged, as though to suggest he had nothing to say about the encounter, and grinned. His dark eyes glinted with friendly humor.
“Now, about your merchandise,” she said in a firm voice. “What kind of a price are you looking for?”
They wrapped up the business end of the transaction, then before Ivy could wonder whether he’d try to extend his contact with her or attempt anything close to a personal conversation, Noah said, “Nice doing business with you, Ivy. I’ll leave through the store, if you don’t mind. I can look around.”
“Sure, help yourself.” Leading the way, Ivy strolled back into the showroom.
Ivy turned her attention to a customer choosing wallpaper and matching drapes, and she became engrossed in color schemes and styles. Long moments later, a trill of laughter and a deep chuckle intruded upon her concentration.
Glancing toward the sound, she spotted Noah on a ladder removing one of her finest black walnut mantels from the wall display. Sherri waited at the ladder’s base, her eyes alight with pleasure as she gazed up at Noah as though she were Juliet doing a reverse balcony scene with Romeo.
“Do you want to take this with you or have it delivered?” he asked the older woman waiting beside Sherri. Mrs. Gilliam, Ivy noted. A regular customer, she’d looked at the mantelpiece more than once but usually declared it too expensive.
“Oh, um, I have my van,” the woman answered. “I’ll take it now, if you’ll carry it out for me.”
“Be glad to, ma’am.” Noah answered graciously. “Soon as Sherri rings you up, you just pull your van round back and I’ll have this wrapped and ready to load. Do you have someone at home to unload it for you?’
“Ah, yes.” The woman’s salt-and-pepper head nodded, but her voice held an overtone of disappointment, as if hoping Noah might offer to deliver her purchase. “Yes, of course.”
“Oh, thank you, Noah. I could never have taken that down without you,” Sherri gushed before turning to the customer. “Will that be cash or charge, Mrs. Gilliam?”
“Charge, I suppose,” Mrs. Gilliam said, running an appreciative hand along the dark polished wood. Intricately carved with racing horses, the heavy piece was the most expensive mantel in the shop. Ivy’d begun to think she’d never sell it without a drastic price reduction.
But Noah had. Her gaze followed him as he carried the object into the back room. Ivy finished with her own customer before stepping through the storeroom door.
“Got any real packing material back here?” he asked her without looking her way as he searched a corner of the storeroom.
“The heavy-duty wrapping is behind the door over here.”
“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” He pulled the roll of batted paper out and hoisted it with ease onto the one counter Ivy kept clear for the purpose of wrapping large items. Having a person with muscle power about the store had its advantages, she admitted to herself. “Wouldn’t want to expose this thing to a possible scratch. About lost my back teeth when I heard Sherri quote the price.”
“Good work always commands a good price.”
“You know, this thing was so high up no one could see the delicate details,” he said, looking it over carefully. “Even needs a little dusting. I bet you could’ve sold it a lot faster if customers could see it better. Some of your wall could do with a rearrangement.”
“What’s wrong with the wall?” He was right, but she was curious to know why he thought so.
“It’s too random. Looks disorganized.”
She blinked at his pointed reply. Obviously, subtlety wasn’t one of his strong talents.
