скачать книгу бесплатно
Connor listened, but mostly he just enjoyed the walk. He liked the easy way their steps matched and how her words never seemed in a hurry, like some folks talk as if rushing the clock. In a few more days it would be March and almost time for spring. Then, maybe, if she was still around, they’d slow their pace.
The air had stilled and the evening glowed in sunset’s last light. The smells of winter drifted near: wood fireplaces, the last scent of dying sagebrush. This was his favorite time of year. Spring might be for dreaming, but winter was for reflecting.
“I was afraid you’d be staying late tonight,” he said as they walked through leaves rushing nowhere in the wake of each passing car.
“Why? Did you think I needed to? The work still seems overwhelming.”
“No. I’m glad you didn’t put in longer hours tonight. Too great a time to walk. But if you’d like to come in on a Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon, I could offer to help.”
“That would be great. I could move twice as fast with photographing if I had help with the layout.”
“You’ve got a nice camera.”
She nodded. “I bought it a few years back when I was a Realtor’s assistant, and I found I couldn’t leave it behind when I moved on. I never seem to get pictures developed though, just store them on my laptop and keep on taking more.”
He grinned. She’d finally told him something personal.
When they reached the gate of the bed-and-breakfast, she broke the comfortable silence that had drifted between them for a few minutes. “I’ve been talking too much.” She hesitated. “If you want to come in, Mrs. Kelly always leaves cookies out in the parlor.”
Connor was too surprised by the invitation to answer.
Her words quickly filled the silence. “I’ve been waiting all day to hear how you like my latest articles. It might just be for the community blog, but I’m thrilled about writing something others will read.”
“Oh, of course.” He felt like a fool for even thinking she’d invite him in for some other reason. She hadn’t even hinted at flirting with him. “I’d love to talk about them, and cookies are one thing I never say no to. But you’ll have to promise to cut me off after two.”
He followed her to the parlor. He’d been in the old home a dozen times, but it never seemed as inviting as it did tonight. Low flames in the fireplace. The smell of gingerbread drifting from the kitchen. Jillian removing her coat as if settling in for a chat.
She made him a cup of hot cocoa to go with the cookies and they talked about her writing.
“I’d like to submit a few to one of the big papers in the state.” Connor was comfortable talking business. “Who knows, someone might pick them up. If they did, they’d pay far more than the twenty dollars I can afford.”
“You really think someone would want them?”
“Sure. I loved the story of the Orlando quilt I read this afternoon. A girl driving cross-country every year to visit her grandparents and seeing all the sights through a child’s eyes. Then, as an adult, she quilted from her memory. I loved the picture of her Yellowstone block with the bear as tall as Old Faithful.
“And, Jillian, you’ve got the pictures to go with each story. I’d think that would be a real selling point in a human interest piece.”
She laughed with excitement, and the sound made him smile.
When he reached for his fifth cookie, her hand covered his. “I have to cut you off, Connor, I promised. You still have to walk home. Any more cookies and you’ll have to roll.”
He turned his hand over and held her fingers. “Thanks. I have no restraint.”
Standing, he drew her up with him. “Okay if I send the articles? I think you’ve got a chance of making some money. Plus, if one of the big papers does pick it up, the articles might draw people to the county museum to see the quilts.”
“You think I might make as much as Toe Tents?”
He liked that she was so tall. He could look into her eyes. “Probably not,” he teased.
A thump came from just above their heads.
“The ghost?” he whispered.
“Probably. Mrs. K is in the kitchen. I hear old Willie now and then. He likes to move around about the time the clock strikes midnight.”
They both laughed.
Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and walked to the door. “There are always strange sounds in a house this old. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” she answered.
To his surprise, she followed him to the porch, and he didn’t have to turn around to know that she watched him as he walked away. She had been standing in the same spot every night as he glanced back, just before he turned the corner.
He closed his hand tightly as if trying to hold the warmth of her fingers for one more moment.
In his thirty-seven years, he’d never learned to weigh his feelings. The important ones, the unimportant ones. Not for women anyway. He could be polite, even funny sometimes. He could pretend to notice they were flirting, but he was never sure how to react.
But with Jillian, it was different. If she stayed around long enough, he might start to feel something for her, and it was his experience anytime his heart got involved, even slightly, it was bad news.
6 (#u3d987ccc-abdb-5344-9062-ec860c7eae48)
Sunnie Larady glared at the woman who had invaded Gram’s shop for the past few weeks. Jillian James looked nice enough, but she had to be up to something. No one under forty spends all day in a quilt shop. Jillian was almost as old as her father. She was tall, a few inches less than six feet, and she looked intelligent.
So if she wasn’t crazy, she must be up to something.
Sunnie knew her height because she measured everyone by her own height, hoping one day that all the people in the world would all grow half a dozen inches, then she’d be normal. The school counselor said she reached her elevation early, but how did she know? At sixteen, she might still be heading up.
Forget that worry. Right now Sunnie saw her mission clearly. She needed to keep an eye on the stranger.
Why had Dad hired someone to go through the dusty old inventory anyway? Maybe Gram was forgetting things. All old people do. That didn’t mean Gram needed a keeper.
The woman couldn’t be planning to rob the place. No one in their right mind would steal from a quilt shop.
Jillian looked up from her notes and smiled at Sunnie. “Shall we begin?” she asked, as if they were going on a great adventure and not simply counting quilts.
“I want to help, but I don’t want to bother any of Gram’s things.” She was Eugenia Larady’s only great-grandchild. It was her duty to protect Gram’s stuff. “This place is like the cemetery. It’s okay to clean up, but I don’t think we should be moving the quilts around, or Gram might think she’s lost something.” It was ten after nine and Sunnie was already bored.
Jumping up onto the counter, she decided she’d wait until Jillian told her what to do. No sense giving her ideas. After all, she was just the assistant. Her dad had made that clear. If Jillian told her to do something she didn’t like, she’d just call Dad. Until then, she’d follow orders.
Jillian smiled at her again and leaned against the counter, too. She must be working by the hour also. “Your comment reminds me of a graveyard outside of Hamm, Luxembourg. General Patton is buried there. He died in a car crash in 1945 just after the war was over, but he wanted to be buried with his men who died in the Battle of the Bulge. It’s a peaceful place in the countryside now, but once, they say the spot ran red with blood.”
“Any reason you’re giving me this history lesson?” Sunnie picked at the hole in her jeans, making it bigger. “I’ve had enough history. My dad writes books about tribes in Texas who died off before the Pilgrims landed. He writes mysteries too, but none of them get published, and he wrote a time-travel series he doesn’t even try to sell to anyone. To me, all those people are dead and might as well be forgotten. He also writes children’s stories about battles. You two should have a long talk.”
“I have no reason for bringing Patton up, except I just remembered that when Patton’s wife came to visit her husband’s grave, she had him moved in front of the other graves. Like he was still leading his men. Some said maybe he would have been happier being with them.”
“I get it. Moving things in a cemetery.” Sunnie rolled her eyes. She hated people who thought conversation was a connect-the-dots hunt. Doze off for two sentences and you’re lost.
While she was on the hating things subject, she hated Jillian’s straight black hair. It was too shiny and seemed to flow down her back when she moved. Witches, if there really were any, probably had hair like that.
As if Jillian could read her thoughts, she picked up a rubber band and tied her hair into a messy bun. Even that looked good.
Jillian got very professional all at once. “I’m here to log your Gram’s things, not relocate them. I promise I’ll be very careful with the quilts and I’m very happy to have your help.”
Sunnie was glad when Gram came back from the kitchen. This new lady didn’t make much more sense than her dad, always spouting facts of no use in the real world. Between Gram repeating herself and Jillian talking about cemeteries, Saturdays were going to be double boring.
But if Sunnie was being honest, at least Jillian James tried to talk to her, and that was more than most people over twenty bothered to do. Sunnie had thought of claiming to be sick this morning, but then Dad might not let her go out with Derrick and she’d been counting the hours since Wednesday when he’d ask her to hang out with him Saturday night. It didn’t matter what they did tonight; just being with him was all she’d been thinking about for a month. He was so perfect.
Dad didn’t seem to understand how lucky she was. Just turned sixteen and already dating the most talked-about boy in school. She was a sophomore and he was a senior. Even when she told Dad that Derrick had the best baby blue eyes in the world, he wasn’t impressed.
Of course, it was Derrick’s second senior year. He had missed some school because of a few car wrecks, but he was the hottest guy at Laurel Springs High. He’d played football last year, had the letter jacket to prove it. But he didn’t wear it much. Claimed this year was strictly for partying. He’d said his new leather jacket was much cooler.
“I thought we’d start by taking down a few of the wall quilts.” Jillian interrupted Sunnie’s R-rated prediction of what might happen tonight. They’d been together during school several times, lunch, assemblies, but never for a date. But tonight, something was going to happen. They’d have time to talk, to be alone.
“Can’t you just take pictures of them on the wall?” Sunnie hoped to rest at work; after all, she didn’t want to be tired tonight.
“I could,” Jillian seemed to be considering the alternate plan, “but the shadows of the fans and the angles from window light would not reflect each block to its best advantage.”
Sunnie gave in. No point in arguing. She had to do something while she was here or her dad wouldn’t pay her eight bucks an hour. He was such a pain. He thought she should earn money. Didn’t he understand most of her friends didn’t have to work; passing grades should be enough work? Besides, everyone knew the Laradys owned land in town and out. She shouldn’t have to work.
Plus, this job wasn’t turning out to be as simple as she’d thought. They had to carefully remove each tack, or brace, or cotton rope strapped to the back of the quilt. Once they got it down, it had to be dusted and spread out exactly right before Jillian took about a dozen shots. Then they did it all in reverse.
Sunnie decided she’d die of boredom before noon.
The only break she got was when Jillian asked Gram questions about the quilt she’d just photographed. Most of what Gram talked about wasn’t worth writing down, but she did mention that one Texas Star pattern had been pieced by Sunnie’s great-great-grandmother.
While Gram talked and Jillian took notes, Sunnie ran her hand slowly over the quilt, realizing that she was touching something that five generations had touched.
When they started on the next quilt hanging high on the wall, Gram said she had to clean the office this morning and couldn’t help them, but she spent most of her time visiting with the customers and Mr. Dunaway. If it hadn’t been impossible, Sunnie would swear the two were flirting with each other. Sunnie couldn’t bear to watch. Even if they were flirting, Mr. Dunaway wouldn’t remember what to do after hand patting and winking. Every time he called her grandmother Jeanie, Gram smiled.
Three hours. Four quilts. A dozen visitors, and every time the door chimed Gram popped out of the office like a jack-in-the-box. This was going to take forever. Sunnie tried to stay awake by trying to calculate how many hours it would take for her to earn enough to buy a car.
When Derrick came in, Sunnie almost ran to him and yelled, “Save me. I’m dying in this place.”
Only, he didn’t like that kind of thing. Derrick said he liked things “real.” The first afternoon they’d hung out he’d told her what he expected from her if they were going to be together. No holding hands. No touching in public. No junior high stuff like boyfriend and girlfriend.
He said she was lucky a nineteen-year-old guy like him ever agreed to be seen with a sixteen-year-old, so she needed to understand how things were before it got out that they were together. He picked the time and place. Then, he’d texted her Wednesday that they’d get together Saturday night.
When she texted back that she had to work, so needed to know the exact time, he just answered, I’ll find you.
That sounded so exciting. And now, here he was.
Sunnie grinned and almost said aloud, “Isn’t he wonderful?”
But she realized Jillian and Gram thought Mr. Dunaway was cute, so she’d be wasting her time.
“How you doing, Shorty?” Derrick winked at her. “I can’t wait for tonight.”
Sunnie nodded, trying to not look too excited.
He’d said he’d teach her a few things when they were alone. She’d bet it wouldn’t be Texas history or where Patton was buried.
When she’d asked for a hint, he laughed. “Don’t worry, we can’t go too far. You’re jailbait, but we can still have fun.”
Sunnie wasn’t sure what all that fun might be, but she planned to be a quick learner. Most girls her age had had several boyfriends, but when you were a head taller than every boy in your class all the way through middle school, there’s not much interest. Only now, Derrick was two inches taller than her. He’d nicknamed her Shorty the first time he’d talked to her.
He was the first boy who ever flirted with her. She’d been leaning over the railing at a football game a few months ago, and he’d walked right up to her and run his hand along her spine as if he couldn’t wait to touch her.
When she straightened, he’d smiled. Most boys backed away. The others didn’t realize that the way she dressed was “in” everywhere but this small town. Hadn’t they ever walked Sixth Street in Austin? She dressed like the kids from the university did on weekends. She’d seen them once. She wasn’t clueless.
Derrick said he liked her light blond hair and her dark makeup. He swore it made her look wickedly sexy.
“You about ready to quit work?” he asked as he moved behind the counter with her.
“No. I have to work until five.” She kept folding squares of material. She loved how he moved closer and didn’t seem to care he was breaking Gram’s rule about no one behind the counter that didn’t work in the shop.
He moved a little closer and glanced around, making sure no one was near. Then he slid his hand over her hip and leaned close to whisper, “You got a nice butt, Shorty. You wear any underwear beneath those holey pants?”
She didn’t move. His hands, still on her, were below the counter. No one could see what he was doing. If she didn’t react, no one would know.
His hand moved again, patting her bottom this time like she was some kind of pet. “I can’t feel any. Maybe you’re one of those girls who wears a thong.”
She didn’t like the way he was talking, but this was Derrick. He must know what he was doing. She was just being skittish, like a girl who’d never had a boyfriend.
When he gripped her hip in his hand so hard she knew he was bruising her, she stepped away, banging her side into the cash register.
“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s not my fault you’re so damn touchable.”
When she let out a nervous giggle, he leaned close and said, “Tonight we’ll go somewhere really alone. I plan to examine a few more parts of your body. Play along, Shorty, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not wearing my senior ring by Monday morning.”
It wasn’t exactly romantic, but she didn’t need romantic. She wanted real. Life was hard and cruel. Why should love be any different? Besides, Derrick was just a now guy. She didn’t see them as a couple forever. She never wanted anyone to matter to her as much as her mother had when she died.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she moved a few inches away. She had no doubt her father would ask.
“I thought we’d drive over to Tyler and catch a show. We could warm up a little in the back row.”
“What are we seeing?”
“Who cares? Something rated R.”
Sunnie nodded as if she agreed with the plan.
“Any chance you get a break from this prison? We could sit in my car and look up what’s showing.” Derrick bumped her shoulder with his fist.
“Yeah,” she said as Jillian stepped from the office. “Oh,” Sunnie said louder than necessary, “Derrick, this is Jillian. She works here with Gram.”
Derrick nodded. “Nice camera.”
Sunnie had the feeling he was looking more at Jillian’s breasts than the camera hanging just below them.
