Scott caught his lower lip between his teeth, then said, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings in any way.”
“You kind of already have, so please explain.” As Shelby folded her hands in what appeared to be a composed gesture, they shook a little. Why did the prospect of hearing something negative from Scott make her nervous?
A whimper ascended from beyond Scott’s side of the truck, but Scott ignored the dog. He pulled his hat off and ruffled his hair, then rubbed his eyes as if to clear his head. “You started talking about doing a TV show flipping historical houses. I was afraid my situation presented a too-neat package to fill that order. I could already envision the TV crews intruding into all aspects of my life. I know you liked the notoriety, but I’m not like that. I just wanted to do this flip with you, and …”
“Be done?” Shelby snapped, feeling defensive despite her resolve to remain impervious.
“No. I like working with you. I didn’t want you to judge me because of my past or my family, or whether I was poor or wealthy. I want you to want to work with me because you like it too—because you like me. Not because I might represent your next career opportunity.”
The vulnerability of Scott’s statement pinged Shelby’s heart. “I do like you. I mean, I like working with you.” When he kept staring at her, she repeated herself as she reached over to give his hand a brief pat. “I like you.”
The admission came out way too honest and raw in the silent cab of the truck, not at all in the cute way she intended. And when her hand touched his, Scott flipped his over and threaded his fingers through hers. The intimate touch sent fire racing all the way up Shelby’s arm, but instead of withdrawing, her brain raced to picture kissing him. The force seemed so right she didn’t question it, just leaned forward. His gaze dropped to her lips, but as Scott shifted, a howl of gut-wrenching abandonment launched from Luther to the sky, making both of them jump.
Scott released her hand. “Luther!” As he opened the door and leaned down to tousle the head of his pet, Shelby sat back and pressed her eyes closed. She took a moment to compose herself as Scott stepped out of the truck.
What had she been thinking? Tomorrow would be the anniversary of her husband’s death, and she’d almost ushered it in by lip-locking the next guy to enter her life—a co-worker at that. But her reaction wasn’t totally reprehensible, was it? Probably, it had more to do with her own loneliness and many years of conditioned response than her feelings for Scott Matthews. Yep, that was it. Too many nights of Hallmark movies and hormones.
But when Scott tilted his head up from his wagging dog and grinned at her, her resolve almost melted. He looked like a twelve-year-old boy, eager to introduce his pet.
“He’s really friendly. Come out and meet him.”
Shelby released her breath with the seatbelt. As she came around the truck, a rumble of disapproval broke from the throat of the German shepherd.
“Uh …” Shelby took a step back.
“Don’t be scared. Come ’ere.” Scott wrapped his arm around Shelby’s waist, making her eyes round in surprise. He patted her shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm, then spoke to the canine in a high-pitched voice that made her want to laugh. “See, this is Shelby. She’s nice. She’s my friend.”
Luther ducked his head and approached to sniff in the scent of Maltie on Shelby’s jeans.
She muttered through clenched teeth, “Still not sure it’s safe to pet him.”
Scott laced his fingers through Shelby’s and lowered their joined hands to the vicinity of the dog’s muzzle, a casual touch that completely disregarded Shelby’s private resolution. “Scratch his ear.” He glanced up at her, and she wasn’t sure which jarred her most—the raspy tone of his whisper, or his shining green eyes. She could see the golden flecks in them.
Shelby slipped her hand away to comply. A second later, Luther licked her wrist and huffed up at her in approval. She released the breath she’d been holding and straightened. “Okay. Now that I’m permitted on the property …”
“Let me show you my place first.”
Luther trotted behind them as Scott strode over to raise the garage door. Next to the empty bay, a table saw and circular saw occupied the center of the workshop. A workbench extended the length of the room with drawers below. Plexiglas cabinets above opened to wall-mounted clamps, sanders, nail guns, screwdrivers, hammers, and tools she had no idea how to identify. A drill press and a miter saw were secured into openings in the countertop. As Luther trotted inside with nails clicking, pencil drawings of measurement-marked furniture tacked to a corkboard fluttered in the breeze from the open garage door.
Scott hefted a long cabinet front with raised panels onto the table. “Know what this is?”
Inhaling the fresh, heady scent of sawdust, Shelby ran a hand along the curves of the raw wood. “Is it … part of the island?”
“Yep, the front piece where the chairs will slide in. You like it?”
“I do! It must be amazing to picture something and just make it. When I picture something, I have to go shopping for it.”
“Or, if it involves wood, you could ask me.”
“Yes.” Shelby smiled. “Now I know all about Culpepper’s and Aiken-Augusta Old Woods and the genius behind both.”
Shelby was afraid to say more. Scott’s determination to avoid publicity did barricade a future avenue she’d allowed herself to consider, one she’d thought could prove both relevant and lucrative. With the loss came a sense of disappointment … and confusion. He said he liked working with her, but did he mean for only the Wentworth project? What if she suggested more, only to get hurt?
Renovations and woodworking already filled Scott’s life. Without a TV show, he probably found her design services unnecessary. Most people wanted to decorate their homes with their own furnishings and accessories. Maybe it was unreasonable, disloyal even, believing she could replace Chet and his crew so easily. Maybe God was trying to tell her to focus on independence. Stand on her own two feet for a while rather than relying on a man.
Shelby wrapped her arms around herself as she allowed Scott to lead her upstairs. His two-bedroom apartment displayed a bachelor simplicity that made heavy use of reclaimed wood, but the occasional green plant and framed photo collage told Shelby Linda had helped personalize the space. Less really was more with the rustic style. As in a Craftsman home, the quality of each piece, including the doors, trim, and cabinetry, spoke for itself. Kind of like the man.
When they completed the brief tour, Scott led her through the breezeway and into the main residence. Expecting to glean further ideas inside the 1850s house, Shelby discovered period antiques coupled with classic oak and mahogany pieces that created a traditional Southern Living look.
Scott’s parents added to that impression. Linda dished up generous servings of pork roast, green beans, and fresh rolls in the kitchen, while Mike Culpepper read a newspaper in the den. He must have changed from work clothes into the button-down and khakis he now wore. He stood up to shake Shelby’s hand when Scott introduced her.
Shelby offered to help carry plates into the elegant dining room with its crystal chandelier, wainscoting, and massive china cabinet. As they took their places around the table—Scott and his dark-haired father on the ends and she and Linda on the sides—Shelby complimented the beautiful home.
“Why, thank you, Shelby,” Linda said. “Mike wanted the house furnished authentically, but I wanted it to be livable, not like a museum.”
They paused to say grace, then Mike selected a roll and passed Shelby the basket. “The house didn’t look this way when we bought it.”
“Oh?”
“You might be aware I worked for a historical preservation firm when I first moved to Augusta. Despite this house’s prime location, an older couple lived here and didn’t have the finances to keep it up. We got it for a steal considering the land value, but it required a complete overhaul.”
“Which you did yourself?”
Mike
nodded. “Yes, and added the garage apartment. Let’s see, you were a junior when we bought this place, weren’t you, Scott?”
“Sure was.”
“Austin had already gone off to play football in college, so Scott helped me after school.”
“This place was basically my resume for the historical contract work I did later,” Scott said.
“What a resume. And what value that adds to your home on a personal level.” Shelby aimed a polite smile at Scott’s parents, who nodded and smiled back at her. Linda may have once struggled to survive as a single mom, and Mike may have gotten ribbed for starting a business few understood, but they now represented success in all areas of life. Impressive. No wonder Scott valued hard work so much. And no wonder he worried about freeloaders with selfish motives. She watched him cut his pork roast. “You went to college, too, right?”
“Yes. I got an accounting degree. Helps me crunch the numbers.”
“Not just for his contracting work, but also for our family business,” Linda said.
Shelby narrowed her eyes. “You’re more involved than you let on.” Shame filled her when she recalled her condescension when she’d first run into Scott on the job site. She’d behaved as though he should be honored to work with her when she should have been honored to work with him.
Linda winked at her son, whose face flushed. “Oh, he’s very involved. Just behind the scenes, the way he likes it.”
Indispensable. Far too involved to expand his business to include her. Shelby poked at her roast, separating out a small bite. As much as she might learn from Scott Matthews and admire his family, their future acquaintance would be surface. An occasional furniture order. Or crossing paths downtown if she ever got her own business going. The best thing to come out of this connection might be experience with rustic design. An expansion to her repertoire. And maybe that would eventually be enough to reclaim some business from Julian Etier.
She’d call that friend at the local magazine. A write-up with a photo spread would not only endear the Wentworths to their new neighbors, it would advertise Shelby Dodson’s come-back.
On the way home, Shelby fought a strange and nauseating sense of guilt. Why did she feel guilty? She’d done nothing wrong. Fleeting moments of attraction to unlikely people did sometimes arise out of loneliness. But … She drew in her breath when she identified the source of her guilt.
“What’s wrong?” As always, Scott was quick to note any change in her demeanor.
Shelby smiled and shook her head. “Nothing.” She turned her face away to hide the truth.
Problem was, this attraction wasn’t fleeting, and Scott wasn’t unlikely. Despite all her noble self-talk about keeping things professional and impersonal, the more time Shelby spent around Scott, especially seeing him interact with his family, the more she liked him. And the more she liked him, the more she realized all the ways he complemented her. Ways Chet never had. And that was why she felt guilty.
After they unloaded their finds at her storage building, she buckled her seatbelt as he started the truck. “I have a question.”
“What’s that?” The street light highlighted the plane of Scott’s cheekbone as he turned his face toward her.
“You’ve never been married?”
“Nope.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
Shelby saw his jaw tighten as he steered the vehicle back onto the street. “Close?”
“Yes. Close.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“I found a girl in college I hit it off with, the first one I thought got who I was. We dated over a year. I wanted to wait to ask her to marry me until closer to graduation, so whenever she brought up the future, I avoided talking about it. I guess she took that as a lack of commitment. So … when she met somebody else …”
“No!” Shelby gasped. “You let her get away.”
Scott nodded.
“Well, did you try to explain to her?”
“I tried, but her new boyfriend had this charismatic personality.”
“Did she marry him?”
“She did, but it didn’t last.”
“Well, I guess she learned her lesson. Charismatic can turn cantankerous in a heartbeat.” Shelby didn’t even realize how much her statement gave away until she felt Scott staring at her.
“Thanks.” His tone suggested surprise. “But it was really me who learned mine.”
Shelby adopted a light tone. “You still wish it had worked out?”
“No, I got over it eventually. But I promised myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Even though it doesn’t come naturally to me, next time I’m going to speak up before it’s too late.”
Why did heat rush from somewhere in her chest up to her forehead? Shelby swallowed and looked away. As they bumped over the curb into her driveway, she leaned forward, frowning. “Why is there a Cadillac in my driveway? And a man on my porch?”
Chapter Eighteen
Shelby’s obvious alarm over the fact that a balding man faced Angelina at the front door made Scott hasten to park, slam his truck door, and hurry up the sidewalk. “Hey!” He barked out the greeting. “Can we help you?”
The middle-aged man turned, and a grimace twisted his mouth as his eyes locked on Shelby. “You sure can. Perfect timing, in fact.” With fists balled at his sides, the visitor stepped off the porch, leaving a wide-eyed Angelina peeking from behind the front door.
“What’s the problem?” Responding to the perceived threat, Scott stepped in front of Shelby. She side-stepped so she could see past him but offered no greeting.
In the faint glow of the porch light, the man stabbed the air with his finger. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Scott chanced a quick glance behind him to find not fear but guilt written on his co-worker’s delicate features. “What does he mean?”
Her throat worked. “Scott, this is David Barnes.”
Blinking as realization hit, Scott took a moment to digest this pertinent information. David wouldn’t be here for no reason. He angled toward Shelby, hunching his shoulders as he spoke in a low voice. “What did you do?”
David didn’t wait for Shelby to answer. “She went to see my father, that’s what! Her and that bitty sister of hers pretended to visit an old neighbor. Used the poor woman to get into the nursing home to my father and show him an old picture she found at the house, of my mother with another man.”
“What?” Scott looked between them, unable to believe Shelby had found some kind of evidence she hadn’t shared with him.
“I didn’t think you needed to know—either of you.” Shelby’s statement squeaked out. “Charles was the one to decide what to do.”
“He’s over ninety years old!” David’s face turned ruddy, and his neck seemed to bulge. “Not sound of mind or body! Why do you think he’s in that nursing home? Did I not tell you when we met I wanted him left alone?”
Shelby sighed and fumbled inside her purse. “Yes, you did. But this photo could be key evidence in your mother’s disappearance. I couldn’t sit on it.”
“So instead you made an old man wonder if his wife cheated on him forty years ago. Yeah, that’s just what he needs to be worrying about.”
“I’m sorry if he thought that, David, but your reaction is the very reason I went to him instead of you. Your father said you lost it any time the subject of your mother came up.”
David’s gaze fell on a Polaroid Shelby pulled out into the light. “I’ll show you losing it if you don’t give me that right this minute.”
As the livid man lunged forward, Scott couldn’t determine his intentions fast enough, so he put himself between David and Shelby again. Afraid David planned to hit Shelby, he grabbed the older man’s arm as it arched through the air. David shoved him back and snatched the photo, then held it up in both hands.
For just a second, David glared at the likenesses in the porch light, his face twisting with pain. “This is what I think of your
snooping, my mother, and the past.” He ripped the picture in half and tossed both sides onto the grass, permanently dividing the man from the woman.
Shelby started to protest. “David, you don’t know—”
He wagged his finger at her, starting to move toward his car. At last. “I don’t care. I don’t want to know. You bought the house; do what you want with it. But stop looking into my mother’s disappearance, and never speak to me or my father again, or I’ll hire a lawyer.” David suddenly reversed course and edged up on Shelby until he stood almost toe-to-toe with her. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” To her credit, Shelby didn’t move or even tremble.
Scott snatched the man’s elbow, jerking him away from her. “Back off, dude, or I’ll be the one calling the police.”
David’s eyes raked fire over him. “I want to make sure you understand me this time.”
“We understand you. Mrs. Dodson will be good for her word. Now leave.”
“I’m holding you to it,” David said on a growl. He wheeled and stalked to his Cadillac. A moment later, the engine revved, and tires squealed as he backed onto the street, then sped away.
Once the car disappeared from sight, Shelby let out a soft moan and sagged so suddenly Scott slid an arm around her. But with the threat gone, his protective instincts gave way to rising frustration. As Angelina rushed out, he settled Shelby on the front step and demanded an explanation. “So what he said was true? You two did go visit Charles Barnes?”
With a steadying hand on her sister’s arm, Angelina faced him. “We visited our old neighbor, and yes, we saw Charles Barnes. We had a peaceful conversation. We didn’t threaten him in any way.”
“But you did threaten him.” Scott went to pick up the two halves of the photo. He shook them at the girls cowering on the porch. “This threatened him.”
Shelby protested with a soft wail. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t ignore it. What if an innocent man’s life has been ruined by suspicion all these years, and that photo provides a clue to what happened? Shouldn’t Charles decide whether he wanted to investigate more himself, or take it to the police?”
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