Changing His Plans

by Jo McNally

  “Oh, wow,” Mack laughed. “Look at those dreamy eyes. Our nerdy Nate has an admirer!”

  She sat straight. “He’s not nerdy.”

  The women all looked at each other, eyebrows raised in unison. Nora tipped her head to the side. “Have you seen him in those black-rimmed glasses?”

  Yes, she definitely had. She’d stepped into the store to get more dog treats and caught him at his computer, listing some antique hood ornament on his website. With the plaid shirt, the glasses and his brown hair practically standing on end, he hadn’t looked like a nerd to her. He’d looked like sex on a stick. The rush of desire she’d felt came out of nowhere. All she could think of was him taking those glasses off nice and slow. And then the shirt. And then her shirt...

  She gave herself a quick mental shake. She’d been without a man for too long. That was why she was having these silly cravings for this man. Up until now, she’d been perfectly happy concentrating on her career so she could pay her sister’s bills. But there was something about Nate’s steady, gentle calm that made her think of other things. And that was dangerous.

  * * *

  Nate told himself it wasn’t like he was driving out of his way to go by Brittany’s place almost every night. It was on his way home. Sort of. He had to drive right past Long Point, like he was doing now. And it was no big deal to turn down Long Point Road. Which was a short dead end... He rolled his eyes at himself. There was no other reason for him to go down a dead-end road she happened to live on.

  Except...Vince was out of town, working the state fair in Syracuse. And Vince was a friend...an acquaintance, at least. So it made sense that Nate would drive by and check Vince’s camps once in a while. Every day. For a week. He slowed at the curve before the camps.

  Not that he stopped and walked around or anything. He wasn’t stalking the woman. It was just that he’d heard her cabin was the only one rented this month, which meant she was alone out there. There were a few other houses on the road, but they were set back, and if Brittany needed anything... He pulled his van to the side of the road and stopped.

  He was screwed. He was sure this woman was up to something more than just casually looking at businesses in town “for a friend.” But he’d seen ripples of something else in her. Behind her stories was...a real story. Behind her brittleness was something...softer? No, that wasn’t right. She was tough. She was also vulnerable. And she seemed to hate that.

  Nate slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Now he was trying to be some sort of psychoanalyst. For a complete stranger. He was losing it. He’d been watching her flit around town for two weeks now, in and out of businesses, taking pictures, laughing with Nora and the ladies at the coffee shop, even stopping by his store once in a while. Mainly to talk to Hank and poke at Nate about how he loved antiques more than hardware. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to get him to think about selling the place. As if. He should be furious about it. Instead, he admired the game she was playing. And she seemed to know it. She wasn’t putting a hard sell on him, as if she knew he was a lost cause. But still...she kept stopping by.

  And not just the store. She’d walked that wild-haired little dog Joey past his house a couple of times, even after she found out it was his place. He’d joined her the one time, but felt weird about doing it again. It wasn’t like they were a thing. They weren’t even friends, quite. She was a visitor to his town, and she was up to something. And he couldn’t get her off his mind.

  “Are you lost?” He heard her voice asking the question. Yeah, he was lost.

  “Nate. Are you okay?” He blinked and turned to the open passenger window. Where Brittany stood, looking at him like she thought he was crazy. He was parked in a van on her street, with a direct line of sight to her cabin. He was lucky she wasn’t calling the cops.

  “Uh...yeah. Sorry. I...thought I forgot to...feed Hank before I left, so I was going to...you know...turn around...but now I realize I did feed him, and...”

  She leaned on the door, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And did you realize that before or after you turned down the dead-end road I live on? Were you coming to tell me you’re having second thoughts about putting a price on your store?”

  He laughed. “Dream on. Okay, you caught me. I was coming over to...” His mind spun, trying to come up with something plausible. “To invite you to go picking with me tomorrow!”

  That was not at all what he’d intended to say.

  Her jaw dropped. “To invite me where?”

  He was in it now.

  “You’re always asking me about the antiques and where they come from and all that, so I thought I’d show you. There’s a barn sale out by the llama farm, and Mrs. Kennedy said I could look through her grandfather’s place again if I wanted.” It was one of his favorite spots—the old house had been closed up for decades, just the way it was when old man Kennedy died. His grandchildren had fought about the property for ages, but Blanche Kennedy had managed to get them to agree to let her handle selling everything off. “It’s like walking into a time capsule. You’ll love it.”

  She disappeared out of sight for a moment, then straightened with the dog in her arms.

  “First, I will probably not love it. And second...there’s a llama farm?”

  There was a childish quality to the way she’d asked that last question that made him forget he’d just been winging it with that invitation. Now all he wanted to do was spend the next day showing Brittany the real Gallant Lake. He winked at her and put the van in Reverse.

  “I’ll pick you up at nine. We’re gonna get dirty, so...” He saw the laughter in her eyes and shook his head. “You know what I mean. Don’t wear all that fancy stuff. Be practical.”

  She stepped back and turned away, tossing her last words over her shoulder.

  “I’ve got just the thing. But you better show me llamas, mister.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brittany looked at her reflection and smiled. She knew she had to have the plaid cotton shirt at Mel’s boutique the minute she saw it. It reminded her of Nate. Would he get it when he saw her? Or was he oblivious to the fact that he wore plaid so much? She was even wearing jeans. Not mom jeans, of course, but stretchy jeans with artfully worn spots and holes. It was funny in a way. She’d grown up wearing thrift-store bargains that came with holes no designer had placed. She’d hated it. Now she was paying two hundred dollars for ones that had holes on purpose.

  She fed Joey and made sure he had water. The mutt had settled into being a house dog quickly, happy as a clam staying home while Brittany was out, as long as he had food and access to the sofa for naps. He was living a good life these days. She’d miss him when she went home to Tampa. Which would be soon, if things kept going her way.

  The Thompsons were thinking about selling. Stella Cortland was all in, eager to get her business sold. Louise DiAngelo was on board, too, although Louise was a bit like Nate—skeptical and questioning. Brittany was doing her best to get everyone to stay quiet about the potential offers, but she didn’t know how much longer that would last. She had a call scheduled with Conrad that week. But first...a day spent with Nate. And llamas.

  He laughed as soon as he saw her. “Nice shirt. Good thing I broke pattern, or we’d look like picker twins.”

  He was wearing a faded T-shirt instead of plaid today. The same shirt he’d worn the night he and Joey had shown up at her door. The soft one that looked so good on him.

  They started at the barn sale. Nate said they needed to be there early because it was open to the public and things would go fast. They drove up and out of Gallant Lake, through a rolling countryside dotted with old farms and newer homes. The trees were just starting to change color, with splashes of gold and red among the green.

  “It’s beautiful out here.”

  Nate nodded. “It is. I mean...it’s home to me, but I’m still amazed sometimes about how p
retty it is. How lucky I am to live here.”

  “How much you don’t want it to change?”

  He gestured toward the view on the other side of the windshield. “Why would I want to see this change?”

  There was a large modern house up on the side of the hill, and she pointed to it. “That house is beautiful, and it’s not old.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not just about stuff being old. It’s about respecting tradition. That’s my friend Wyatt’s house. He built it on land that’s been in his family for seventy years.”

  “I think you keep changing your rules. It’s all very fuzzy logic to me.”

  He turned onto a dirt driveway that led up to a large barn where a few cars and trucks were already parked. There were tables set up outside, covered with what looked like dusty old junk to Brittany. But Nate nearly bounced out of the van, hurrying over to start digging through metal tools and signs like a kid digging through Christmas toys under the tree. She followed slowly, more fascinated by the people than by the stuff.

  Customers were looking through the things on the tables and large items, like furniture and—was that an antique gas pump?—that were scattered across the lawn outside the barn doors. Assuming this...stuff...was the treasure Nate had been so enthusiastic about, there wasn’t much competition between the people shopping. In fact, there was a sense of community. One woman held up an oil can and called to Nate, asking if he had that one already. He nodded and thanked her, and they both went back to searching...or picking, as Nate had called it.

  Two other men, one older than the other, were examining an old white table with an enameled metal top. The older man was saying that it would have been used in a farm kitchen, where the metal top would be handy for butchering meat or sorting vegetables from the garden. The younger man nodded, said he had a perfect spot for it in his family room to hold electronics. The older guy just shrugged and agreed it could work for that, too.

  She walked toward Nate, who was explaining to a young couple what some kitchen utensils had been used for, including a hand mixer operated by turning the handle to spin the beaters.

  “And this, believe it or not, is an ice tray.” He lifted the dangerous-looking insert, with a long metal handle and little blades that presumably formed the cubes. “You’d have to pull on this lever to pop the cubes loose and get them out. My grandmother used to make me do it because she jumped every time it popped.”

  The young couple picked up the box of kitchen items and thanked Nate as they went to make their purchase.

  “Is the person selling all of this a friend of yours?” Brittany asked.

  “Not a close friend. I know them, but not that well. Why?”

  “I just wondered why you’re working so hard to help other customers buy stuff. You didn’t want that box?”

  He nodded, reaching for a square wire basket with three old milk bottles in it. “Sure I did. I’m always on the lookout for smalls like that. Kitchen collectibles sell well and don’t take a lot of shelf space.”

  “Then why did you answer their questions? You gave them enough information to encourage them to buy it out from under you.”

  His head tilted to the side and he looked puzzled by what she was saying. Then his eyes went wide and he grinned.

  “Ah...you think I should have played dumb and let them walk away so I could have it for myself?”

  “Basically...yeah.”

  “That couple told me they wanted to hang the tools on the kitchen wall in their house, which they inherited from her aunt and uncle. They’ve remodeled the place, but want to honor its heritage, too.”

  She had no idea what he was getting at.

  “So?”

  “So...they’ll appreciate those pieces. And that’s my foundational goal, to make sure history is preserved. Tradition honored. That box is going to a good home.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “That box could have been inventory for your business!”

  “Maybe. But all that stuff probably came out of the same kitchen. And they’re keeping the set together. That means something. I’m glad to see it.”

  They stared at each other until she shook her head.

  “I don’t understand your business model.”

  Nate picked up a small tin sign for baking soda. It was bright blue and white, with just a bit of rust around the edges. “If I can find good homes for pieces and make a little money for myself, that’s fine. But this was never about that for me. I started picking with my grandfather, and picking is more about the stories we can preserve than it is about money.”

  She started to object, then waved him off. They were two different people when it came to business. He ended up buying an oil can with a motorcycle on it, a wooden display for thread, the baking soda sign and a small metal dump truck toy. She found a painted metal tray with a picture of a woman staring into a mirror with cosmetics on the dressing table in front of her, along with a bottle of cola. Her hair and feather-trimmed robe suggested it was from the 1930s. Brittany thought it would be a fun gift for her sister.

  Nate looked at it when she was waiting to pay. He saw the twenty-dollar price tag and frowned. “Are you buying this as an investment or because you like it?”

  “I like it. She reminds me of my sister. Why?”

  “It’s a reproduction. You see that a lot with advertising pieces, especially with soft drinks.” The woman at the cash box greeted Nate warmly. He nodded, then pointed at Brittany. “You know that’s not vintage, Eleanor. How about knocking a few bucks off the price?”

  “Sure, hon.” She took in Brittany’s designer jeans and her Dooney & Bourke leather bag. “How about fifteen?”

  Brittany was already pulling out the bills when Nate said, “How about ten?”

  Eleanor sighed, but she didn’t seem distressed. “How about twelve?”

  “Deal,” he answered.

  As they walked back to the van, Brittany looked over to Nate.

  “I’d have paid fifteen, you know. She’s got to get rid of this stuff, and she deserves to make...”

  “Eleanor’s a picker like me, except she hits more auctions than house sales. Doesn’t like getting dirty. She has a barn sale like this once a month in the good weather. And I guarantee you she didn’t pay more than a couple bucks for that tray. She did just fine at ten dollars.”

  Brittany wasn’t one to want some man to negotiate on her behalf, but she had the feeling Nate didn’t do it as a control thing. He did it because he had her back. It was something new for her. And she liked it.

  The llama farm was next, as promised. Brittany had never been within fifty feet of an actual llama, much less pet one and bury her fingers in their thick coat. Nate kept teasing her that one of them was going to spit at her, but luckily, they never did. The place was busy, since it was a summer weekend. But the owners knew Nate—of course—and allowed them to go into the barns and see the behind-the-scenes stuff. They saw a shy brown-and-white mama llama who got stressed by weekend crowds, so she and her adorable baby, called a cria, were moved inside on the weekends where things were quiet. She seemed very content to have Nate and Brittany petting her while her cria bounced around her like he had pogo sticks for legs.

  There was a very aggressive male llama at the end of the barn. Nate explained that “Jack-o” had come to the farm with a bad attitude and had refused to shed it. But he sired beautiful babies, so the owners had created a large indoor area for Jack-o to use that kept him away from guests and other llamas. When the tour hours were over, he had a large, and very sturdy, outdoor pen to gallop around in. Nate wouldn’t let Brittany near the enclosure, but he did grab some alfalfa hay and extend it through the enclosure openings for Jack-o to grab at.

  They finished their tour by walking the outdoor trails that wound through the paddocks and pastures, where dozens of llamas grazed or napped. The view was beau
tiful, with Gallant Lake barely visible in the distance. Nate helped Brittany up to sit on a wooden fence, first checking to be sure no llamas were in biting or spitting distance. She looked around the well-kept farm and sighed.

  “This is so peaceful. It’s like I can feel my heart rate slowing, just by sitting here.” It was true. The perpetual tension in her shoulders and back had been getting less and less the longer she stayed in Gallant Lake. And this day, with farms and antiques and llamas and Nate... Well, it felt completely foreign and very nearly perfect.

  Nate rested his chin on his hands on the top of the fence. “It’s great up here. I love the water, but the farms around here just roll and weave among the hills and create a rhythm that’s hard to resist.”

  “That’s pretty poetic for a hardware guy.”

  He went still. “Don’t do that today, Britt. Don’t try to convince me I don’t belong in a hardware store. That store is my life, and I promised my grandfather I’d keep it going.”

  She’d broken the moment, and she hated that. She put her hand down on his shoulder.

  “I promise you that wasn’t what I was trying to do. I know you can be kind and sometimes stubborn and a little bit stalkerish in your determination to keep an eye on me.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But I hadn’t seen your poetic side until now. It suits you. Just like the store suits you.”

  And in that moment, with a crisp breeze rustling the dying leaves in the nearby oak tree, she realized he really did belong in that store. And there was no way she was going to...or wanted to...convince him to sell. It didn’t matter that it was her job to do so. She wasn’t going to do it. Not to Nate. Which presented a whole array of problems, none of which she wanted to deal with today.

  “Is that the same grandfather you used to go picking with? Tell me about him.”

  She’d never known her grandparents. She’d certainly never built her life around a promise to one of them. Extended families were something she learned about in movies, not in real life.