by Chant, Zoe
An old man in Carhartts had stomped through the door, shedding bits of mud from tan work boots that looked as beaten and aged as the heavy overalls. He had wispy white hair and a handlebar mustache that almost sank into the craggy lines of his face, and a scowl even deeper than his crags. He stumped up to the counter, where Kate, the proprietor, handed him an already-packed brown bag lunch. He planted a palm full of cash on the counter and stomped out again without ever saying a word.
The whole cafe had gone quiet, if not quite silent, with his arrival. The sound only gradually picked back up in the wake of his departure. Sarah kept her own voice quiet without meaning to. "That's Wallace Evans. He lives out in the woods by himself, and according to everybody around here, he always has. I'm sure he must have been pretty young—in his thirties, probably?—when I moved here, but I was a kid, and you know how everybody looks old to kids? But I swear he hasn't changed since then. But even the old people talk about him like he's been out in the woods as long as they can remember."
"Are there a lot of hermits like him around Virtue?" Matthew still sounded strange, but Sarah, glancing toward Wallace Evans, couldn't figure out why.
"Nah. The rich families live on their 'estates,'" Sarah said, making air quotes around the word, "but mostly we're townies or live on farms like Mabs's. Or Jenny Minor's. Speaking of which." Her voice darkened. "I see our unfriendly neighborhood developer in the square."
Patrick Harsnick's swaggering arrival silenced the cafe in a completely different way than the old man's had. Sarah thought people acted like they were a little afraid of Wallace Evans, but the response to Harsnick's arrival was much more hostile. Everyone stared at him with unfriendly gazes or gave him cold shoulders, which didn't seem to distress him much. Sarah figured he was used to it.
He sauntered up to the counter and gave Kate an oily smile. "A turkey sub, please."
Sarah could see the conflict in Kate's pretty face, and suspected everyone else—even Harsnick—in the cafe could too. She obviously didn't want to serve the developer anything, but social conditioning said unless he did something actively awful right there and now, it was almost impossible to refuse him.
And his smug look said he knew it. He was counting on people—especially women, but people in general—not being willing to make a fuss. Sarah clenched her stomach muscles, trying to prepare herself to make one, when Matthew stood up and casually approached Harsnick like it was no big deal. "Mr. Harsnick, I have to assume a man who does your job can read a room."
Harsnick's attention snapped from Kate to Matthew, his expression completely taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"You can read a room, right?" Matthew said gently. Encouragingly, even. "A man like you, who goes into communities to broker development deals? You must be able to look at the people around you and judge what they're thinking. What they're feeling."
Harsnick snapped, "Of course I can."
"Well then," Matthew said, still softly. "Well, then, I also have to assume you've come in here just to try to force people who are unhappy with your presence to serve you. And I have to say, I'm a newcomer here in Virtue, but I don't think that's the kind of behavior these townsfolk like or approve of. Now, I wouldn't want to speak for Kate..."
"You don't have to," Kate said in a strong voice. "You're not welcome at my cafe, Mr. Harsnick. Please show yourself out."
Harsnick, stunned, looked around the cafe at closed-off, unfriendly faces, and made one angry attempt to stand his ground. "You can't just throw me out. I've done nothing wrong."
"We reserve the right to refuse service, just as any business does," Kate replied. "We're refusing to serve you, Mr. Harsnick. You know where the door is."
By that time several people were on their feet, Sarah included. Her heart hammered, partly with adrenaline, but also with a wonderful, breathless kind of joy. It was hard to break social norms and stand up against someone who was unwelcome or badly behaved, but Matthew had done it without a second thought. And—like getting coffee for Sarah herself—it wasn't an action he'd taken to benefit himself. It was just the right thing to do.
He was amazing.
And Patrick Harsnick looked around the gathered, scowling crowd, then scraped together his dignity and stalked out like it had always been his plan.
An actual cheer erupted and suddenly people were shaking Matt's hand, slapping him on the shoulder, even—in Kate's case—pulling him into a hug. "Thank you," she said breathlessly. "I wanted to say something but I froze. You unfroze me. Thank you!"
"I could tell you wanted to," Matt said gently. "I thought I'd just break the ice for you. You did the rest."
"You get free milk and cookies forever." Kate hugged him again and Matthew came back to the table with a smile.
"You're a bonafide hero," Sarah told him, and shook her head emphatically when he tried to brush the compliment off. "No, you are. You stood up when the rest of us were paralyzed."
"Maybe it's easier for me," Matthew suggested. "I'm only here for a little while. If people thought I was an asshole for being disruptive like that, I'd only have to live with that for a few weeks. People who live here would have to deal with it forever."
"Nobody thinks you're an asshole." Sarah made a small gesture at the room, where cafe patrons were still smiling and chatting to each other about the whole incident. "They think you're somebody who'll stand up to help others, and to help a town that's not even his. Which is pretty heroic."
"Are you sure I didn't just do it for the milk and cookies?"
Sarah laughed as Kate brought a plate of them to their table. "I am, in fact. Although, wow, these look wonderful, Kate. Thanks."
"Free milk and cookies forever," Kate repeated to Matthew, firmly, then winked at Sarah and went back behind the counter.
"She knows I'll pay for them, right?" Matt asked with a smile, then took a bite of a snickerdoodle and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, wow, that's really good."
"Everything at Kate's cafe is. Do one thing and do it really well. That's her motto." Sarah laughed suddenly. "Mine, on the other hand, is do all the things and try to do them all really well. Honestly, I think her way is probably smarter."
"Yours gets you so involved in the community, though. I really admire it. I'd like—" Matthew hesitated on a sharply indrawn breath that faded into an almost-shy shrug. "I'd like to belong somewhere the way you do."
Sarah actually bit her tongue trying not to say you belong with me. That was not the kind of thing she went around saying to...well, anybody. Certainly not to beautiful men who were only in town for a month. Men who would probably not appreciate such possessiveness on her part. Although maybe Matthew would. Maybe someone who belonged was just what he was looking for, to help him belong, too.
What she said, though, after a fumbling moment, was, "I hope you find that." She did. She really, really did. She specifically wanted him to find it with her, but...well, she wanted a pony and a winning lottery ticket, too, neither of which seemed enormously likely.
Although she guessed if she really wanted a pony, she could go talk to Jennifer Minor about financially supporting one of her horses, or something. It wouldn't help with the lottery ticket, though.
Or with winning Matthew Rojas's heart and somehow magically convincing him to stay in Virtue forever.
Which was ridiculous. Sarah was too busy for romance. She had things to do, for heaven's sake. A library to run. Theater to attend. Protests to go to. A million other things.
And yet somehow Matthew had managed to fit himself into doing those things with her, in such a way that the effort to spend time with him had been—well, effortless.
The inkling of a thought crept toward her. Maybe it wasn't that she'd always been too busy for romance.
Maybe it was just that she'd never met a guy worth making time for.
Sarah said, "Huh," out loud, if quietly, and at Matthew's quizzical noise, looked up with a little smile. "Nothing. Just having a minor revelation over here."
"Ye
ah?" His eyebrows went up and a curious smile touched his lips. "Feeling inclined to share?"
"No, I don't think I will." Sarah's smile widened. "Not right now, anyway. I have to sit with it a while."
"Well, assuming you don't have to actually sit, maybe we should go get showered and head up to the Barlows?"
Sarah bit her tongue on saying, is that an invitation? and nodded instead, croaking, "Probably a good idea."
"I'll get the bill." Matthew stood up and Sarah watched him walk away, completely distracted from her intention of saying, I bet you won't. Goodness, but his jeans sure fit him well. His well-fitted jeans—and the rest of him—went over to the counter where, as Sarah suspected, Kate wouldn't let him pay for lunch. Sarah heard him say, "That's really kind of you," and then watched him put a thirty dollar tip in the jar.
Kate made a sound of protest. Matthew winked and she gave a faint, nervous giggle that Sarah completely sympathized with. Then he turned to Sarah herself and waved her toward him, his smile so bright and genuine that her heart clenched.
Also, it was probably her imagination, but she thought that everybody in the room seemed to see Matthew's gaze go to hers.
They met at the door, both of them smiling, and exited to the sound of Sarah's imagination saying oooooOOOOooooh! in the voices of all the people inside the cafe.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The cafe's wonderful, tart lemonade had been so good it made Matthew's ears hurt when he drank it. An hour later, his bear was still making all sorts of terrible, delighted faces at the memory, its long tongue twisting and its ears twitching awfully with astringent pleasure. Matthew, post-shower and waiting for Sarah outside his apartment, muttered, "Stop that. It's distracting."
Oso rolled his tongue again. It's so sour, he said. But so sweet. Not like berries. Not like honey. I want more.
Matthew laughed. "Not right now."
The bear looked disappointed, but didn't argue as Sarah pulled up in her vintage truck. She rolled down the window to reveal herself in a checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, like a flawless 1950s farmgirl pinup. If she wasn't wearing overalls he'd eat his hat.
He'd have to get a hat to eat it, but by God, he'd eat his hat.
Fortunately, he didn't have to, because she moved enough that he could see she was, in fact, wearing overalls. All she needed was a straw hat and a hayseed to complete the image.
The perfect pinup girl leaned out the window, dragged her sunglasses down her nose, and drawled, "Well, hello there, mister. Looks to me like you could use a lift. Where you headed?"
Matthew burst out laughing. "Anywhere you're headed, ma'am. Aaaaanywhere you're headed."
"Well, that's swell," Sarah replied. "I'm going up to the old haunted house on Blueberry Hill, and I sure as heck need me a strong handsome man to scare them ghosts away!"
"Well now." Matt's drawl wasn't as good as Sarah's, but he tried. "I reckon I can be that for you, little miss. After all, there's no such thing as ghosts."
Sarah dropped character to mutter, "Wait until you see the Barlow house," then waved him toward the other side of the truck. "Climb on in. The Barlows are expecting us at four, and I do not dare be late."
"You dare wear overalls and a cotton checkered shirt, though?"
"I have a reputation as quirky to maintain." Sarah took a deep breath. "And maybe I thought if I looked like a hick they'd take pity on me. Or maybe I thought if I was wearing tennies I could run fast enough to get out of there, so I couldn't wear a dress."
"If they're scary enough for you to have to run away, I promise to throw myself between you and them so you have time to escape."
Sarah's laughter rose and bounced around the truck cab. "That's incredibly generous of you, but it'd be hard to explain to the New York public library system. 'I'm sorry, your new archivist can't make it, he got eaten by the local rich people.'"
"And here I thought we were supposed to eat the rich."
"Wires got crossed," Sarah said mournfully. "Happens all the time." She shot a grin at him and Matthew thought his heart would melt into a puddle of...whatever rich people liked to eat, he guessed. Truffles, or something.
Sarah drove them into old forest outside the town, and down a winding road that eventually went around a curve at the base of a series of hills. Matthew, bemused, said, "Oh," as he saw why Sarah had suggested the Barlow house might be haunted.
A Georgian manor sat on top of a low rise surrounded by the larger hills. Two stories of red brick had been built, long ago, into a solid, unforgiving square, with an octagonal single-story entryway jutting from the front. The roof was grey-slated, gabled, and had a white fence around the perimeter that matched the white shutters on more windows than Matthew could count at a glance. He said, "Oh," again, and followed it up with a heart-felt, "Wow."
Sarah muttered, "Right?" and pulled into a parking space at the foot of a longish footpath leading to the front door. They walked up the footpath together, Sarah murmuring, "Ready to face the lion's den?"
Matthew gave her a quick smile, trying to reassure her nerves as they knocked. "Definitely. And so are you."
And he really believed it, until a shifter answered the door.
* * *
Tom Barlow was a powerfully built white man in his sixties, with a shock of silvered hair and small, glittering brown eyes set deeply behind extremely fashionable, rimless glasses. He was dressed immaculately in well-pressed grey slacks, a crisp pale pink shirt left open at the collar, and shoes that probably cost a year's worth of Matthew's upcoming new salary.
And he was absolutely a shifter. Not a predator, according to both Matthew's nose and his suddenly-alert oso, but not easy prey, either.
Matthew, a little wildly, thought, Spectacled bears are mostly herbivores. What am I even thinking, 'easy prey?'
His bear had no answer for that. It was locked in what felt like a staring contest with Tom Barlow's shifter beast, which really meant that Matthew and Barlow were gazing intently into one another's eyes without speaking.
Matt was pretty certain he looked like a cub who'd gotten caught stealing berries from its mother, or had suddenly come face to face with a human for the first time ever. Barlow, on the other hand, looked completely in control and as if he was considering whether he should eat Matthew's face and ask questions later.
Sarah, brightly, said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Barlow. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice. May we come in?" and shook both the men out of their astonished semi-rivalry.
"You may." Tom Barlow's voice fit his look: deep, reverberating, sure of himself.
No wonder that even Sarah, who was obviously capable of taking on anyone and anything, felt a little intimidated by him. Sarah was—Sarah was a river, Matthew thought. Quick, cheerful, moving through the landscape and touching everything as she went. Barlow was like a mountain, intractable in the river's path.
Matthew reminded himself that water could wear down even mountains, in the end, and followed Sarah into the manor.
They were led to a sitting room that had been decorated a hundred years ago, but which looked retro-chic rather than dated. People spent huge amounts of money trying to make their rooms look like this, in the modern world.
Of course, they'd probably spent huge amounts of money making it look like this a hundred years ago, too, but quality lasted. Barlow gestured for them to sit in what Matthew thought were probably rosewood chairs, and took a seat across from him. Matt was surprised, honestly, that the man of the house himself had even answered the door. He bet there were servants somewhere around here.
"You wanted to talk to me about an archival project?" Barlow sounded one step shy of impatient already, as if he couldn't imagine what they were wasting his time for.
"Not exactly." For all her nerves while approaching the place, Sarah now sounded confident and casual. "I'm sure you're aware of the development project that Upstate Resorts is trying to get started across the river? That they're attempting to claim
eminent domain on some of Virtue's township?"
"I am."
Sarah's smile flashed. "And I'm sure you're also aware that Jennifer Minor isn't particularly thrilled about somebody trying to whittle away at her ranch's borders."
"I wouldn't expect her to be." Tom Barlow's attention bounced between Sarah and Matthew, listening to her while obviously also trying to figure out what Matt and his bear had to do with anything.
"So Judge Owens has asked if we can find an original copy of Virtue's royal charter as an ace in the hole to keep Virtue's borders intact," Sarah went on easily. "We've looked through the historical society papers and what the library has in its archives, but the charter seems to have vanished. We're hoping one of the old families has it in their safekeeping."
Barlow's white eyebrows drew down. "Are you accusing us of stealing the charter?"
Sarah looked genuinely nonplussed. "Not at all. I just know how much Virtue's history means to the families who originally settled here, and I thought if there'd been any risk to the charter at some point, somebody might have been asked to keep it safe."
A glower settled into the lines of Barlow's face. "If so, it wasn't our family."
"Rats." Sarah exhaled so deeply she seemed to cave in on herself before she gave Barlow a wan smile. "I know your ancestor Sir Henry Barlow was the one who traveled back to England to get the charter signed, so you were our first and best hope. Did you know there were two copies of it?" she asked suddenly, as if she'd just remembered. "There's a note in one of the town council books about the 'secret' charter. We don't have a copy of that one either, but it can't be the one that was on display, right? Do you know anything about it?"
Matthew bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to guide Sarah away from the topic but not having any idea how without making a scene. Not like the scene at the cafe earlier, either. It would have to be really dramatic to head Sarah off, like feigning a heart attack, or something.