Temporary. Professional, she told herself. Surprises always lurked beneath the surface. There was no way Scott was all he appeared to be.
“Maybe you could call David.” Lester turned to his wife with a speculative glance. “Let him know Shelby wants to apologize and we have no intention of stirring up any more trouble for them. After all, you’re the least threatening person possible.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Fixing a fist on her hip, Ruby mock-glowered. “Well, when you’re not mad at me.”
“He does have a point.” Scott laughed.
“Let me think on that,” Ruby said. “For now, let’s enjoy our day. Are you ready for all this history, Shelby?”
She gave a wry grin. “I’m sure it will be very … educational, Miss Ruby.” As they entered the seven-and-a-half-acre park past a guard house where a Colonial sentry stood at attention, Ruby told them that the young family that had viewed their current home seemed likely to put in a bid.
“That’s wonderful.” Shelby paused under a shingle that read “Print & Post” on the side of an adorable yellow building with light-green and black trim. Letting Scott lead the way, she followed. The cool air scented with the delectable aroma of meat cooking—and a lighter conscience—put a spring in her step.
Scott set out for a dormered, blue building. On the porch of the two-anda-half story New Windsor Cabinet Shop sat buckets, chairs, churns, and smaller items, apparently for sale, while a rhythmic thumping sound issued from the open workshop.
As she trailed Scott inside, Shelby inhaled the clean scent of fresh wood.
“This is what my shop would’ve looked like two hundred years ago,” Scott said.
The source of the thumping became apparent, although the man pumping the foot-powered treadle lathe stopped the minute he noticed Scott.
“Keagan.” Scott went over to clasp forearms with the living historian clad in tan knee breeches and full-sleeved muslin shirt. “How’re you doing, man?”
“Good morn to you, Scott Matthews. It looks like the good Lord sent me a helper on this busy day!”
“Afraid not, although I’d love to. I’m with some clients today.” Scott introduced the Wentworths as the clients and Shelby as his co-worker on their renovation project.
As thirty-something Keagan, with his sandy, shoulder-length hair tied back with rawhide, bent over her hand, Shelby fluttered her lashes in surprise. Westley from The Princess Bride sprang to mind.
Keagan seared her with his charming, dimpled smile before turning back to Scott. “If you refuse to work, and you can evade being drafted into the militia, you must take the fair maid a’dancin’.”
“Oh … no. No dancing.” Shelby took a step back.
A little boy sucking on a striped candy stick sidled up, nodding toward the lathe. “Whatcha makin’?”
“A spindle for a Continental officer’s chair, my lad. See how it works? I have secured the wood on the screw, held up by this adjustable tool rest. I pump this pedal with my foot and apply this tool as ’tis turning.”
“Cool, can I pump it?”
Noticing a good moment to escape, Shelby waved and headed onto the porch, where Ruby admired the merchandise. After calling out a goodbye to Keagan, Scott followed her.
“I saw a basket demonstrator over there under those trees,” Ruby said. “You can use baskets in the decorating, can’t you, Shelby?”
“Of course. I’ll help you pick them out.”
“Oh no.” Ruby waved her hand. “I can’t mess up basket selection, and besides, I’ve got to stop by the restroom.”
“Already?” Lester groaned.
“Well, I did drink two cups of coffee. I hear music coming from the event barn. Scott, why don’t you take Shelby over, and we’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Shelby’s mouth dropped open at Ruby’s desire to part ways so soon after arriving. “But—” To her amazement, Scott agreed with Ruby, took Shelby’s arm, and steered her across a meadow. “Doesn’t it seem to you like they’re setting us up?”
Scott winked. “Let’s just let them have their way. Keep the clients happy, remember?”
“Fine, but the clients are getting rather pushy.” Scott chuckled.
As they approached the huge, sliding door at the barn front, the wistful sound of a string ensemble stirred Shelby’s emotions. She stood next to Scott to admire several men in waistcoats and breeches and ladies in gowns with paniers. They glided through the steps of an elegant reel under a huge, black iron candelabra. Scattered on benches around the horizontal, light-wood walls, spectators of all ages smiled their approval. When the dance concluded, they applauded.
The most elegantly clad, middle-aged female dancer addressed the crowd. “That was the Hole in the Wall, which you might recall from the romantic ballroom scene in Becoming Jane.”
Allowing for gasps of recognition, she folded her hands in front of her laced brocade bodice. “And now, as promised, I invite you to join us for instruction in Christ Church Bells. ’Tis easy to learn, so come out and form sets of three couples.”
Scott turned to Shelby with a gleam in his hazel eyes. “You want to go?”
She took a quick step back. “No! Didn’t you hear me in the cabinet shop?”
“Yes, but I think you might like this almost as much as laying tile.”
He held out his hand, but Shelby tucked hers behind her back. “I’m totally uncoordinated. My mother had to pull me out of ballet classes when I fell on another little girl’s head.” No way could Scott understand the social disaster her withdrawal from that class had become. She’d lost all her friends, who continued dancing gracefully—and many, competitively.
Scott glanced at the people filling the dance floor, then gave her a quick once-over. “I’d say you’ve outgrown any childhood awkwardness. Weren’t you a cheerleader?”
“That wasn’t the same. Those were routines.” Routines she’d painstakingly rehearsed to get back into those same social circles years later. It had always stuck in her craw that some people said her appearance and not her talent had earned her spot on the squad.
“Well, these are routines also.” He held out his hand again. “Come on. Please?”
“What happened to you being shy and quiet?”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not as shy as I used to be, and I love this stuff.” Scott’s face glowed with hopeful enthusiasm.
She shook her head. “Sorry. You’re welcome to go ask someone else.”
Scott’s expression fell as he stepped to her side to observe the dance mistress organizing the volunteers. He so resembled his awkward high school self that her heart squeezed with conviction. She’d done that—squashed his confidence and joy as fast as she had years ago, and for a silly, selfish reason. But why should she always be the one shoved outside her comfort zone? Irritation and guilt warred within her. Finally, guilt won out.
She tugged him forward by his arm. “Forget what I said. Let’s go.”
“Really?” Scott looked amazed and delighted as he lined up opposite her, but the best she could offer in return was a tight smile.
The dance mistress gave instructions for the formation. “I have placed one experienced couple per set who will guide you through the steps. Now, we shall begin by bowing in line, acknowledging the band. Then, a bow to one’s partner.”
Scott bent at the waist, while Shelby curtsied as she saw the other ladies do. She might as well make the most of this. Deciding to swirl through the dance with exaggerated elegance, Shelby paid close attention to the instructions to promenade and star, first with Scott, then with the next man in line. Problem was, both moves required holding hands with her partner. And problem was, every time their hands touched, warmth flushed from her chest up to her face. And every time she saw Scott approaching, her heart performed a little dance of its own.
They skipped in a circle with the couple next to them, back to place, and then slapped right hands and left. By the second time they did this, Shelby’s mount
ing irritation at her body’s subversive reaction made her slap Scott’s palm a little hard.
“Ow.” He shook his hand in the air as they cast off.
“Excellent. Now, back to places, and we shall have music.” The dance mistress held her clasped fingers out to each side like a conductor about to initiate a symphony.
As they executed the first bow of Christ Church Bells, Shelby noticed Ruby and Lester grinning and tapping their toes on the sidelines, but after that she could only see Scott’s hazel eyes. They didn’t leave her face, even when she tried to look away. Shelby wasn’t sure which was worse, looking or not looking. Why had he put her in this position? And why did she feel like an eighth grader at her first dance? Like she’d felt when she realized Chet stared across the room at her that day they met?
Finally, it ended, applause and laughter erupting. The dance instructor passed by them, exclaiming, “Lovely! Lovely!” She slipped Shelby a business card and murmured sotto voice. “You two make a perfect pair. We could use another couple in our performing repertoire.”
Laughing, Scott stepped closer as the lady glided away. “Shall I escort you to the sutler to purchase a period gown, m’lady?”
Shelby blew out a scornful breath. “No.”
As she shoved the card into her pocket, Scott reached for her hand and bowed over it like Keagan had. Only he let his lips brush her knuckles. He was playing a part, she told herself. But the guilt and irritation bubbling up inside caused her to blurt out, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t flirt with me. As I said before, it’s best we keep to business. Now, I’ve seen your rustic simplicity, I’ve done your dance, and I’d like to go home.”
She walked away before she could feel guilty for the wounded look she’d put in Scott’s eyes.
Chapter Twenty
Ruby’s phone call late the next week took Shelby by surprise. To make sure she heard her client’s request correctly, she closed the bungalow’s living room window. The workers created a teeth-jarring racket, jackhammering the front driveway, then hauling off the concrete chunks in the shovel of a bobcat.
Behind the house, Scott added to the din by revving up an old auger to dig the pergola post holes.
Shelby put the paint scraper down and brushed off her jeans. A miasma of dread at the thought of talking to Scott engulfed her as she stood. She’d finally elicited the stiff reserve she’d expected from him, but by rebuffing his attentions rather than disobeying his wishes. While they’d concluded their visit to the living history park with a polite lunch, the shutters had come down over Scott’s hazel eyes. The subtleness of the loss ached more deeply than any vindictiveness. But she could hardly complain. She wanted a co-worker, she got a co-worker.
This week, Scott always seemed busy when she arrived, while Todd met her with suggestions of what she might do and fetched her supplies. But she chose to work rather than stay home, telling herself the more hands on the job, the faster it would be completed. Tomorrow Shelby had an appointment to look at several office spaces, none near Culpepper’s.
Exiting through the master bedroom, she admired the barn wood closet door slider Scott had just installed. She’d feared it might detract from the light, airy color scheme, but instead, the touch of color and texture brought warmth to the room. When she found the master carpenter himself jerking the pull cord of the detached post hole digger engine, she waved and yelled to attract his attention.
Scott peered up past the brim of his ball cap.
“I got a phone call from Ruby, and she wants us to meet them right away.”
“Could you just go? As you can see, I’m busy here.” He indicated two other two-foot-deep holes, along with markings for more. Pergola poles and beams waited beside the house, which was now painted a rich medium-gray.
“Ruby says we should both clean up quick and meet her and Lester at this address.” She held up her phone to double check the details their client had texted. “Twenty-four North Broughton Street. I think that’s near the West End car dealership.”
“Whose address is it?”
“David and Leah Barnes’.”
“What?” Scott dropped the pull cord.
Shelby shrugged. “Ruby said she decided to call David to tender our apologies, and as luck would have it, or God would have it, his wife answered. It seems Leah is a Christian. She believes all this was meant to happen because she’s seen how tormented her husband has been over the years, even though he tries to hide it. She has something important to tell us.”
The stunned expression of hope on Scott’s face made Shelby’s heart beat faster. Maybe something so good would happen, happiness might override his hurt.
“How long do we have?”
“Less than an hour. Would you want to stop by my house to freshen up? It’s closer—on the way.” She stepped back as Scott moved the heavy auger motor inside the French doors, then tamped the dirt off the separate, red spiral blade.
He answered without looking up. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Scott, it’s not an inconvenience. It’s silly for both of us to drive when we’re coming back—”
A voice, no thinner for its owner’s effort to broadcast it, came from the corner of the house. “Excuse me?”
Scott and Shelby glanced up to behold Betsy Lou Clark approaching in a flowered house dress, cardigan, and white walking shoes.
“Why, Betsy Lou!” Scott actually sounded pleased to see the elderly neighbor. “What can we do for you?”
“You can cease all this awful noise, for one, then you can tell me when you’re going to get this mess cleaned up.”
Shelby stuck her head out the door. “Remember what we talked about, Miss Betsy Lou? Unfortunately, we have to make a mess and a lot of noise before we can clean everything up.”
“How much longer? The Summerville Tour of Homes is this weekend, and my house is going to be featured. I guess they decided enough time has passed that it’s historic. But how will folks even get in if y’all have all that equipment and trash in the way?”
“That’s great news.” Scott offered a diplomatic smile. “We’ll have a new driveway poured by the end of the day tomorrow. Your place will be looking even better with fresh cement next door.”
Betsy Lou pursed her lips and harrumphed. “But not fresh grass. All that dirt’s an eyesore.”
Shelby bit her lip to keep from instructing the combative old sourpuss to get back home and mind her own business, but to her astonishment, Scott rocked back on his heels and rolled his eyes up as he appeared to give consideration to her words. “Well, I had scheduled to have sod laid Monday, but I tell you what. I’ll put in a call and see if they have time to come Friday.”
The pursed lips twitched. “What about bushes? Flowers?”
“Now, being as I’m not a miracle worker, I can’t promise that yet, but you’re welcome to come over and transplant some of yours, Miss Betsy Lou. We could use the help, and it looks like you’ve got plants enough to share.”
The teasing words, accompanied by the glint in Scott’s eye, made Betsy Lou crack a smile. “Not only are you stealing my nap, now you’re trying to put me to work. Have you noticed how old I am, young man?”
“No, ma’am, and I wouldn’t venture to guess. We’re fixing to leave for a while, so I’ll see if they’re almost done with the driveway. And I’ll wait to complete the pergola tonight. That gives you a nice nap time. Do we have a deal, Miss Betsy Lou?”
The woman struggled to maintain her disgruntled demeanor. “I’d better take what peace I can get because I know you’ll be at it again soon.”
As she turned to walk away, Scott called after her, “I promise it’s almost done.”
Betsy Lou waved behind her and kept walking.
“Forty-five minutes.” Shelby looked at her watch. “Now we might not have time to stop by anyone’s house. Why’d you placate her? She’ll just be back complaining about something else.”
As Scott stepped into the house and
closed the French door, he fixed her with a steady look. “Because sometimes, the person is more important than the job, even when we think that person is below our notice. Especially when we do.”
As a sickly cocktail of dismay and conviction swirled in Shelby’s stomach, she swallowed, but as always, her first response was to defend herself against Scott’s poor opinion. “I don’t think that. I stay focused on what’s most important, which right now is meeting Ruby and Lester. Do you want to stop by my house or not?”
He removed his work gloves and tossed them on the floor next to the machinery. “I want to change. I’ll meet you there, and don’t worry, I won’t be late.”
Great, thought Scott, heavy on the sarcasm, as he pulled up at the Barnes’ black-shuttered, red-brick Colonial the same time Shelby did. In his rearview mirror, he saw her get out of her CRV and stand on the sidewalk wearing a cute little denim dress and short boots. Looking at the house, she nibbled her lower lip … and waited for him.
He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to walk in with her. He’d been stupid to hope that observing him with his family and hobbies, and the fact that they’d started agreeing on the job, meant Shelby considered him an equal. He’d been stupid to imagine her face flushed with pleasure rather than embarrassment when they danced together. He’d been stupid to feel something for her. Her reaction to his theatrical kiss on her hand showed she’d only danced with him out of pity. And now he just wanted to get this job over as soon as possible.
Sighing, Scott opened his truck door and walked around to the yard.
Shelby greeted him with a fleeting smile. “So you see what I see?”
“What’s that?”
She framed the white-columned Colonial with both hands. “The perfect flip. Imagine how light-gray paint and a new roof would update this house.”
Why was she trying to connect now? And always put a pretty veneer on things? Or maybe it just annoyed him that he agreed with her. “Nothing wrong with plain brick. Wentworths are already inside. Let’s go.”
Fall Flip Page 17