He glanced down at Lizzie in amazement, but she was working on getting her second boot off and didn’t notice, so he continued his perusal of the room.
Tucked in one corner was an antique cookstove, the likes of which he’d never seen. It was curvy with a white enamel gloss finish; roses were painted on the oven doors, and it had fancy silver claw feet and trim. Bunches of dried weeds of some sort hung upside down from the ceiling rafters amidst a multitude of copper pots and pans, adding to the feeling that he had indeed stepped into a time machine rather than a kitchen.
Lizzie finally stood and strode across the kitchen to a set of rusty metal shelves stuffed with an assortment of baskets and canning jars. Her makeshift pantry, obviously.
“Would you like something to drink while I tend to the animals?” she asked, shouldering past him. She held up a teakettle. “I have all sorts of tea, I can grind some coffee, or I made some lemonade last night…” Her voice faded off into the room when she noticed the expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Quickly collecting his wits, Elliot cleared his throat. “No, no, don’t go to a bother, please.”
Lizzie sighed and rubbed her temple for a moment. “Look,” she finally said, “I’ve been a grouch tonight and I’m sorry. I was… You’re new here and all this must seem strange. I’m glad to have you here, really.”
He was dubious.
“Seriously,” she sighed, pulling out a kitchen chair and dropping into it. “I’ve been moving for what feels like forever, and then unpacking the spa, and the bus wreck… To be honest… it’s pretty quiet out here compared to Boston. Some company might be nice.”
Shocked that Lizzie’s wall of irritation had crumbled, Elliot pulled out a chair and sat across the table, his eyes still straying to various items in her kitchen. Finally he turned to her. “I’m sure it’s been rough. What can I do to help?”
Lizzie snorted. “Nothing.” Silence stretched between them. “I need to go feed the…things,” she finally chuckled. “It won’t take me long.”
Glad to see her mood lighten, Elliot grinned. “Can I help?”
Already headed for the back door, Lizzie paused in the mudroom long enough to tug on a ratty pair of coveralls, then stuffed her feet info a pair of rubber muck boots. “No, it’s okay, you’ll ruin your clothes. You wouldn’t enjoy this, I’m sure.”
“How do you know?” he asked, springing from the chair. “I want to see the…alpacas.” Pleased that he’d remembered the correct word, he waited expectantly for her reply.
She paused, her hand on the doorknob, analyzing his face. “Suit yourself.” She shrugged, then headed out toward the barn.
Again surprised at Lizzie’s willingness, Elliot lurched into motion, following her out the door. By the time he was halfway across the yard, picking his footing in the dark, Lizzie was tugging open the heavy barn door. At the entrance to the barn, he lurched to a stop to scope out the interior, taking in the pile of hay bales, tack hanging along the walls, the stalls and tools, but mostly the huge furry beast of a dog, baring its teeth, ready to spring.
“Lizzie,” he whispered loudly, afraid to move a muscle.
With the pitchfork in her hand, Lizzie turned and patted her thigh. “Lucky, it’s okay, he’s a friend, come here.”
The dog wasn’t so sure, however, and after a quick glance in Lizzie’s direction, continued to stare down Elliot.
“I don’t think it believes you,” Elliot said, standing as stiff and awkward as a scarecrow, his hands raised as if he didn’t want to be shot.
Lizzie grinned and cocked her head to one side. “Maybe that’s because you look like you don’t belong here.” And that was an understatement. The man’s classy trousers and expensive shirt, complete with tie and cufflinks, had no place in a barn, not to mention his outrageously expensive shoes. He looked like a slightly deranged mannequin on Fifth Avenue. “I don’t think Lucky has ever read GQ,” she chuckled.
“Well, do something before it lops off my leg!” he said from behind clamped teeth and a grimace of a smile.
Leaning the pitchfork against the wall, Lizzie tromped to Elliot’s side and patted her thighs. “Come here, Lucky, come say hello.”
The big dog immediately relaxed and trotted to Lizzie, eager for attention.
“You’re just a big sweet lump of matted fur, aren’t you, girl,” Lizzie crooned to the dog with an affectionate pat on the head.
Elliot visibly relaxed. “Hi, Lucky…” he said with an expression of hopeful insecurity as he lowered one hand for the dog to sniff.
After several whiffs and a quick lick, Lucky reared up to place her mud-covered front paws on Elliot’s chest, licking at his face, nearly toppling him backwards.
“Whoa girl!” he cried, stumbling back into the pile of hay bales, his elbows attempting to block his face.
“No, Lucky!” Lizzie gasped, struggling to get between Elliot and the dog. “Get down! Get down! Down!”
The big dog flopped back to the ground and trotted toward the paddock, leaving Elliot white faced and stunned.
“I’m so sorry about your shirt,” Lizzie gasped, brushing frantically at the manure-and-mud mixture covering his chest. “I tried to warn you, it’s probably ruined.”
Elliot didn’t move, and after a few seconds Lizzie paused, her hands still on his shirt, then kinked her head back to meet his eye.
In the dim light Elliot’s face was in half shadow but his eyes twinkled, and his hands came up to cover Lizzie’s. “It’s just a shirt, it’s okay.”
* * *
Lizzie hadn’t had much time to date in the last year, what with shifting her career path, house hunting, and moving. To be alone in such close proximity with a great-looking man caught her off guard. She’d known it was dangerous to bring this hunk of mother-approved male to her place, but the situation had called for her to step up and help, so she had. Simple as that. No sense doubting herself now.
The quiet moment stretched between them, his eyes sparking in the dark, catching fire to a patch of dried tinder in Lizzie’s soul. She went up in flames, and her knees threatened to buckle from the heat.
A slow grin tilted up one corner of Elliot’s mouth, and for the life of her, Lizzie couldn’t tear her eyes from his lips. The dog suddenly burst into a fit of barking, running along the fence of the corral. The noise drew Lizzie back to the present. “I…I really need to get Lucky,” she mumbled.
Elliot’s eyes lit with humor as Lizzie’s face fell, realizing what she’d just said.
A humming sound behind Lizzie drew Elliot’s attention and he did a quick double take to see Ingrid peering over the gate from the paddock. “Look who came to say hello…” he whispered in Lizzie’s ear, offering her an escape.
Lizzie jumped back, her palms pressed to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”
Pretending not to notice her distress, Elliot sauntered over to the gate. Ingrid skittered a few steps back, but assured that Elliot meant no harm, once again approached, her eyes luminous and bright with curiosity.
“Lizzie, she’s—” As he struggled to find the word, Elliot’s face burst into a wide grin. “She’s so inquisitive, isn’t she!”
Determined to regain her equilibrium, Lizzie bustled forward to grab up the pitchfork, then paused to watch. Finally she spoke. “Ingrid has that effect on everyone, it’s alpaca magic.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Elliot chuckled. “It’s something all right.”
Watching the man spellbound with her favorite pet, Lizzie felt her heart soften. He really was dangerously good-looking. And he was being a good sport. Maybe she could just relax and enjoy being with a man for a minute…
But then her mind raced full speed into the future, and within the flash of a second she could see her and Elliot as a couple, with her mother, larger than life, prancing around them, gloating and planning a giant church wedding with all the trimmings. Then it would be mansion shopping and redecorating. Horrified by her ridiculous thoughts
, Lizzie turned and jabbed the pitchfork into a loose hay bale, causing Elliot to jump back a few steps.
“I’ll be finished in a few minutes,” she stated flatly, forking hay into the stall near the barn door. “Need to get Lucky…” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Elliot watched silently as she continued to prepare for the night, checking the animals’ feed and water, and making sure all was secure. Soon, they were trudging across the darkened yard up to the house.
Once inside, Lizzie shuffled out of her boots and jacket. Elliot slipped off his shoes.
The air between them was thick with electricity and silent with unspoken thoughts and considerations. Their eyes met and neither said a word.
Lizzie’s nose wrinkled. “You’ll want to wipe those up before they dry,” she said, pointing toward his shoes. “I’ll get you a paper towel.”
Elliot nodded, grabbed up his shoes, and stepped back out onto the sloped stoop with the shoes hooked on two crooked fingers.
Once the screen banged closed behind him, Lizzie puffed out a long breath and headed for the paper-towel holder. “Get a grip on yourself.” She tore off two sheets of towel. “If Mother were here you’d be engaged by now. Just calm down.”
She turned toward the door, then reconsidered and turned back to tear off two more sheets of paper towel.
In order to give Elliot time to sort out the shoe cleaning, she hurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then returned to the kitchen. By the time Elliot pushed open the screen door, she was seated calmly at the table.
“How’d they come out?” she inquired.
Elliot bent to place his shoes on the floor by her boots. “Good as new. I put the mess in the trash can.”
Again, the room felt heavy with tension, not a negative energy, but more of a tightness filled with expectation.
“Well then,” Lizzie said, rising from her chair and pushing it back under the table. “I’m tired, how about I show you around.”
Elliot bent to collect his bag from the bench.
“The bathroom is this way,” Lizzie said as she brushed past him. “I’m sure you must realize, it’s not original to the house but was added on in the ’50s or ’60s.” She led Elliot to a door off the mudroom where a small bathroom was perched on the back of the house.
Like the rest of the place, the bathroom was old-school, with worn batten-board walls, a claw-foot tub, an ancient toilet, and a large porcelain sink supported by two legs and sporting X handles for separate hot and cold faucets. A fluffy hooked rug was placed on the spotless wood-plank floor in front of the tub. The only furniture in the room was a wooden straight-back chair in the corner and an antique ladder leaned against one wall. Wire baskets filled with soap and rolled washcloths hung from two of the ladder rungs, and clean towels were hung over the others. A few framed watercolors decorated one wall and gauzy curtains hung over the lone window.
“Very cozy,” Elliot said with a smile.
Unsure if he were joking, Lizzie sized him up critically. “Well, I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to…”
He held up a hand to interrupt. “No, I’m serious,” he assured her. “This is very nice, thank you for inviting me.”
Lizzie bit her bottom lip. His manners were impeccable, just like the rest of him. She shrugged and pushed past him to head back toward the kitchen. “The guest room is upstairs. I’m afraid it’s not fancy, it’s going to be my work room.”
Elliot followed her through the living room. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”
As they headed up the stairs, Lizzie wondered if Elliot thought her style odd. Not that she cared, but her floors were plain wood, her rugs handmade, and the furniture was worn, overstuffed leather, except for the old wood rocker by the potbelly stove. Those two treasures had belonged to her grandfather. The adornments in her living room were a mish-mash of collected things she’d reworked over the last year. She had an affinity for ratty angel wings, and there were several pairs made from various articles hanging around the room. A huge wood chest, old signs, a wall cabinet, and a shelf holding a few books, baskets, and bottles filled out the room. Her style was about comfort and function first, and the actual intended use of the item second. She was sure if Elliot noticed that the hanging lamp over the rocker was made from an old French horn, he’d think she was absolutely batty. So be it. She’d been picking up and storing these things for ages, hiding them from her mother in a storage unit.
Her hiding days were over.
“This will be your room for tonight,” Lizzie said, pushing open an ancient five-panel door. She flipped on the light and crossed the room to close the muslin curtains. “The bed is an antique and maybe not as long as you need…” she thought aloud, again chewing one side of her lip as she glanced back and forth from Elliot to the sparse but tidily made iron-frame bed tucked under the eave of the roof.
“Not a problem,” he assured. “Happens all the time.”
Lizzie continued the tour. “Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable. There are more blankets here,” she tugged open a tall white cabinet, “in case you get cold.”
He reached out to touch one corner of her makeshift work desk built with several boards placed across two small bookshelves. Sitting on a lab-style metal stool by the desk, he twisted back and forth a few times, taking in her creative space. The top of the desk was crowded with a sewing machine, a multitude of cans containing pens, markers, scissors, paints, pins, and various other supplies. Paper and fabric were neatly stacked in piles and ribbon spools hung on a wooden dowel suspended over the desk. Boxes were piled in the corner, black-marker writing on the side indicating their contents. “What is that big empty space for?” he asked, pointing toward the empty area in one corner of the room.
She turned from fluffing the bed pillow and flinched inwardly, sure he wouldn’t understand. “My loom,” she finally said.
“Your— your what?” he sputtered, sure he’d misunderstood.
“You heard right,” she replied, wandering over to stand in the open space, her back to him. “It hasn’t come yet. Should be here any day though.”
“Loom,” Elliot repeated.
Lizzie turned. “Yes, a loom. As in weaving.”
Elliot’s eyebrows rose and he stood, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “You know, when I was out back cleaning my shoes, I promised myself that nothing you had in here would shock me, but I gotta admit, I didn’t see a loom coming.”
She shrugged.
“You do mean a working loom, threads and shuttles…”
She waved toward the barn. “Why do you think I have alpacas? Well, besides the fact that they’re really cute.”
Elliot’s jaw dropped. “You mean—for their…”
Lizzie waited, her head leaning forward and her eyebrows up.
“For their fur?” he finally sputtered.
“Fleece, alpacas have fleece.”
“Right, fleece.”
Lizzie laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, as if catching herself, she turned toward the door. “I’d stay and chat but I’m really worn out.”
Elliot followed her and paused in the doorway, one hand raised to rest on the jamb.
She stopped halfway down the hall and turned back toward him. “If you need anything, anything at all, please knock on my door.” She pointed toward a closed door at the end of the hall.
His gaze followed her finger, then came back to her face. His expression showed not a sign of what her statement might have brought to mind, but goosebumps rose along Lizzie’s arms nonetheless. Maybe it was her thoughts getting her all excited.
An easy smile crossed Elliot’s lips. “Thanks again, Lizzie, I appreciate you letting me stay.”
She tucked a ringlet behind one ear. “Not a problem, I’m happy to have you—” The sentence floated between them, hanging in space like a UFO. They both inspected the opened-ended words; then their eyes met. Lizzie could feel her cheeks burning like an
awkward teen’s. Aggravated, she cleared her throat and backed up several steps. “Well, goodnight then.”
Elliot smiled, his eyes shooting sparks in the dim hallway. “Goodnight, Lizzie.”
Her back hit her closed bedroom door and Lizzie jumped in surprise. With an embarrassed smile she grasped behind her for the knob to the door, her eyes still on Elliot. Not finding the knob in all her groping, she finally glanced down, turned the handle and pushed the door, forgetting it always stuck. Glancing back up to grimace in humiliation, she put her shoulder to the door and pushed, nearly falling into her room. With a huff she tromped in and slammed the door, leaned against it, then puffed out a breath. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
She heard Elliot chuckle as his door clicked closed.
Her hands dropped limply to her sides. “He’s leaving soon, and my mother will never know…”
Chapter Eight
Elliot awoke in the dim morning light to a riot of birdsong outside his bedroom window. He shivered and pulled his arms under the covers, then turned his long frame in the narrow bed, tangling the patchwork quilt between his legs. Languidly, he stretched under the covers, his bare feet poking out past the bottom of the bed. With a grunt he pulled his feet back up under the quilt.
The scent of fresh coffee swirled up through the floorboards. The architect in him knew his room was directly above the kitchen, and he wondered what else Lizzie was up to down there.
Instead of getting up, he took a leisurely moment to enjoy the warmth of the homemade quilt as he stared at the pitched ceiling and speculated who had designed the place over 100 years earlier. A rooster crowed in the distance and dry leaves fell against the window, whispering of the autumn day ahead. This was definitely better than a hotel.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 63