Mr. Braxton nodded approvingly, and even his wife seemed intrigued.
“In just a minute, I’m going to make a simple, minor adjustment, and the engine will switch from powering the paddles, to powering the wringer.”
Before he could put words to action, the device started making an ominous sound. A heartbeat later there was a prolonged wheezing, then a series of loud clatters and pops, and then the engine just died.
For a moment there was only shocked silence. Chance felt his excitement over his success die as explosively as had his machine. It could have been any one of a half dozen things that had caused the problem. He’d figure it out, and solve the problem eventually. But his opportunity to have Mr. Braxton back him was over. And with it went his hope of paying off his loan by the end of the year.
“That’s bad luck, son,” Mr. Braxton said. “For a moment there I really thought you had something good.” He turned to his wife. “Shall we head for the hotel, my dear? It’s mighty cold out here.”
And that was it. No chance for redemption. Was his father pleased that things had gone this way?
As if he’d read Chance’s thoughts, his father clamped a hand on Chance’s shoulder. “That was too bad, son. I was pulling for you.”
Now, wasn’t this a surprise? In the same day Eve had let him down, his father had actually shown some compassion.
Then Eve stepped forward, not to commiserate with him, but to speak to the Braxtons. “Please don’t go just yet. Why don’t you come inside and enjoy some chocolate bonbons or some pralines and a nice warm cup of tea?”
Mr. Braxton shook his head. “I’m sorry, but—”
“Did you say pralines?” Mrs. Braxton asked, ignoring her husband’s protests.
“I did.” Eve smiled proudly. “Freshly prepared this morning.”
The woman turned to her husband. “Oh, let’s do, Clarence. You know how much I enjoy those.”
He sighed and nodded. “Very well. But we won’t stay long.”
Chance watched Eve happily lead the pair into the shop through the rear door. Then he turned to Dotty and his father. “Why don’t you two join them? The wind’s picking up and there’s no point in us all catching a chill. I’ll be in as soon as I make certain everything is properly shut down.”
His father seemed on the point of protesting, but Dotty touched his arm and gave him a pointed look. A heartbeat later he nodded and escorted her inside.
Relieved, Chance turned back to his equipment. He needed to be alone for a few minutes. First, that gut-wrenching scene with Eve, and now this disaster. Perhaps his father was right, perhaps he should return to Philadelphia, especially if he lost The Blue Bottle. Not to his father’s home, of course, but he could pursue his work on motorizing the washing machine—and any number of other ideas swimming around in his mind—with easier access to parts and to mentors.
Funny how that thought didn’t give him much comfort. His thoughts returned to Eve. The brokenness he’d seen in her earlier—that he’d been the cause of—seemed overshadowed by something else just now. Was she just putting on a good front for their visitors? She’d certainly turned them into customers for her candy shop quickly enough. Commiserating with him, on the other hand, had apparently been the furthest thing from her mind.
Well, at least someone had made a sale today.
* * *
When Chance stepped back inside fifteen minutes later, he hoped he’d given the Braxtons enough time to have their tea and leave. But to his surprise the two of them, along with Eve, were gathered around one of his worktables. What in the world was going on now?
A second later, Eve caught sight of him and her face lit up in a smile.
He blinked. He’d never thought to see that smile aimed his way again.
“There you are,” she said. “Mr. and Mrs. Braxton were just admiring your creations.”
They were what?
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Braxton gushed. “The nutcrackers, rocking horses and tin stars—all of these decorations are absolutely marvelous. I was just telling Clarence that we should decorate our hotel lobbies in a similar fashion.”
“I’m pleased you like the decorations, ma’am. But creating those things is just a little hobby of mine.”
“A hobby.” Mr. Braxton gave him a stern teacher-to-student look. “Young man, I know you are dedicated to this washing-machine project of yours, and I will admit that it does have promise if you can overcome the obvious problems we witnessed today. But this is where your real talent lies. Workmanship like this is something to be valued and nurtured.” He rocked back on his heels. “I should know—my father was a furniture maker who took great pride in his work.”
He gestured toward Eve. “Miss Pickering here showed us the work you did on those room dividers, and she said you did it all in one afternoon. I call that more than a hobby.”
Chance wasn’t quite certain what to say.
But Eve didn’t seem to have that problem. “Chance is too modest to brag,” she said, “but he does more than carve these beautiful pieces. You’ve already noticed the tin stars. He makes mechanical toys, as well. Leo, the ten-year-old who lives with me, loves them, as do his friends.”
Chance still wasn’t certain what was up with Eve. Did she think she was coming to his rescue the way she had with Leo on the train station platform?
Mrs. Braxton sighed. “This is every child’s dream—a toy store and a candy store all under one roof.”
Mr. Braxton nodded sagely. “In a larger town you could make quite a go of it with such a business.”
“Oh, don’t be so mercenary, Clarence.” Mrs. Braxton gave her husband an affectionate smile tinged with a touch of exasperation. “They seem to be making a go of it, as you say, right here.” She turned to Chance. “It’s too late for this year, but if I ordered, say fifty of these nutcrackers and several dozen of some of the other items to be delivered before next Christmas, would you be able to fulfill the order?”
Chance blinked. What had just happened?
Mr. Braxton was apparently feeling the same way. “Now, Martha, we should discuss this before you go placing orders. We haven’t even discussed price yet.”
Mrs. Braxton waved a hand. “Oh, I’m certain you gentlemen can get that all worked out. My question is whether or not he is willing and able to fill such an order.” She turned to Chance. “So, are you?”
Chance considered the idea for a minute. Was he willing to change his whole way of looking at things, to turn his interest in designing improved machinery into a sideline and focus on his handicraft as a means of making a living? The more he thought on it, the more right it seemed. He smiled at Mrs. Braxton. “Assuming we can reach an agreement on price, I am.”
Mr. Braxton shook his head with a wry smile for his wife. “Martha, my dear, your enthusiasm leaves me little negotiating room. Chance here is going to think he has me over a barrel.”
Eve spoke up immediately. “Chance is a fair and honest man. You have no need to worry when it comes to negotiating a fair price.”
Far from taking offense at her outspokenness, the man gave Chance an amused smile. “This little lady has been singing your praises ever since we walked in here. She’s the best advertisement you have for your business.”
He nodded, not bothering to look Eve’s way. “Miss Pickering is a good one to have in your corner, all right,” he said evenly. “She’s not afraid to stand up for something she believes in.”
From the corner of his eye he saw a little wrinkle form above her nose. What was wrong? He was doing his best to keep his distance. Isn’t that what she wanted?
Mr. Braxton turned businesslike. “Well then, shall we sit down and discuss price?”
As the two men moved to the table that served as Chance’s office, Mrs. Braxton turned to Eve. “Let’s leave the
men to their dickering. I’d very much like another piece of your delicious pralines.”
Chance cast one quick glance at the retreating ladies before he offered Mr. Braxton a seat.
Could he continue to live under the same roof with Eve, knowing how she felt about him? Perhaps it was just as well he wasn’t going to be able to pay that note. This new venture of his could be carried out from anywhere. A fresh start in a new location might be just the thing.
But he knew, deep down, that leaving here would be unimaginably more difficult than leaving Philadelphia had ever been.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eve kept up with Mrs. Braxton’s cheerful, if somewhat flighty conversation. But her focus was on Chance. It was obvious he was trying to avoid her, but she knew that was her own fault. Was he doing it because he thought she wanted it? Or because it was what he now wanted, as well? All she could do was hope that she would have the opportunity to redeem herself somehow.
A few minutes later, Dotty and Mr. Dawson entered from the kitchen, Dotty carrying a tray with cups and a teapot, and Mr. Dawson carrying a tray of sandwiches. Eve was going to have to talk to Chance about building a tea cart.
Assuming they were all still living here after today.
“Sorry to take so long with the tea,” Dotty said cheerfully. “But I thought you might care for something to eat, as well.”
Mrs. Braxton laughed. “That was very thoughtful of you but I’m afraid you went to all that trouble for nothing. I’ve been nibbling on these delicious pralines and have no room for anything but the tea.”
Eve suspected Dotty had known that but had deliberately delayed her and Mr. Dawson’s return to give her time to talk to the Braxtons.
* * *
“So what was that all about?” Mr. Dawson inquired once the Braxtons departed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Braxton have just ordered fifty of my large nutcrackers, one hundred ornament-sized nutcrackers, one hundred tin stars and several dozen of other Christmas items they’d like me to produce.”
His father frowned. “But what about your washing-machine project?”
Chance shrugged. “I’ll continue to work on it in my spare time. But I’m beginning to believe it’s time to shift my focus.” Strange that, in a way, he had Eve to thank for that. Had she known that this would be the outcome of her talk with the Braxtons?
“So you meet with an obstacle and just like that you give up on the whole thing.”
Chance frowned. “That’s not what I said. I’m not giving up on anything. I’m simply giving something else a higher priority at the moment.”
“I thought this invention of yours was something you were passionate about and I was willing to support you on it. It sounds to me as if you still don’t know what you want to do with your life.”
Before Chance could respond, Eve stepped in.
“Mr. Dawson, I know that deep down you love your son and think you’re looking out for his best interests, but that’s not how love works. True love means accepting a person for who he is, despite whatever decisions he makes.” She risked a quick glance Chance’s way. “And loving him imperfections and all.”
She turned back to Chance’s father. “Your son is a good and honorable man, with a lot to offer. He’s a son to be proud of. Chance has many wonderful talents and he’s choosing to use them. That’s to be celebrated, not criticized.”
She was defending him? Was it just her protective nature kicking in? Or dare he hope it was something more?
“Miss Pickering, I’m certain you mean well, but this is between me and my son.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t stand silent and let your statements go unchallenged. Because Chance deserves so much more. And besides—” she cast a sideways glance Chance’s way “—I have something to say to him myself and it won’t wait.”
Chance had never seen his father sputter the way he was now. But his focus was all on Eve as their gazes locked. What did she want to discuss with him?
But his father finally found his tongue. “Now, see here—”
Dotty touched his arm. “Come along, Woodrow. You and I should go take a walk.” Dotty pulled Chance’s father from the room.
It seemed to take forever, but finally they were alone.
Chance studied her face, afraid to read too much into what she’d just said. “That was quite a feisty defense you made with my father,” he said carefully.
“I meant every word of it.” Then her expression twisted into a mask of regret. “I’m so sorry. I was a confused, frightened fool who was too afraid to listen to her heart.”
“I’m not the same sort of man as your father,” he said stiffly.
“I know. You are Chance Dawson, the most generous, decent, caring man I know.”
Was she really trying to say she’d forgiven him? “I don’t need your pity. Or some misplaced gesture of gratitude.”
“Good. Because that’s not what I’m offering.” She took a deep breath. “Let me be clear. I love you. Very much.”
The tension inside him pulled so tight he felt as if he would snap apart at any moment. “Eve don’t. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I would never, ever do that. If you no longer love me, say so and I’ll understand. I hurt you in a most unforgiveable way. But I can’t stand by and let you go on thinking that I don’t admire and respect you for the wonderful man you are.”
She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “But more than that, I need for you to believe me when I say that I love you more than you can ever know. You taught me to trust myself and my heart. To understand that the things my grandmother taught me, about both my mother and myself, were based on her own hurts and bitterness and shouldn’t be allowed to color my life.”
He saw tears pool in her eyes. “And the thought that I let you down so terribly when you shared your own private pain with me is something I deeply regret.”
He placed a hand over hers, trapping it there on his cheek. “I will never be able to read.” His eyes searched her face, looking for a flicker of distaste or withdrawal.
But instead he saw something soft and warm and accepting. “It would give me great joy to read to you so that we can enjoy books together.” She placed her free hand against his heart and he wondered if she could feel its accelerated pounding.
“I love you, Chance Dawson,” she said with undeniable conviction, “just the way you are, just the way God made you.”
Unable to resist further, Chance pulled her to him, giving her the kiss he’d wanted to give her since the first one they’d shared that day she fell. His hand eased around her neck, cradling it protectively, reveling in the softness of her skin and the silkiness of her hair, even as he tasted her lips.
He still loved the contradictions in this woman—the vulnerable strength of her, the shy courage, the quiet sense of adventure. What he once thought was a prim little mouse had a tiger’s spirit.
He could happily explore those contradictions for the rest of his life.
When they finally separated, Chance didn’t take his arm from around her waist. Her face was flushed, her hair mussed and her breathing slightly labored. And she was utterly beautiful.
She loved him! Believing that made him certain he could face anything, no matter how big, no matter how dark, that might come his way. “I love you, Eve Pickering, and want to spend the rest of my days with you, finding ways to bring joy to your life, and to your heart, if you’ll have me.”
She threw her arms around his neck in an exuberant embrace. “Oh, yes.”
* * *
Eve pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, seeking that connection that touched her so deeply. The love shining there was all the confirmation she needed that she had finally found her way home. It was there in the tenderness of his embrace,
the strength of his arms, the warmth of his hand on her waist. To know she was so loved took her breath away. It was a precious gift and one she would never treat so cavalierly again.
And it was a gift she wanted to share. Perhaps, one day, she would search for her mother, and hear her side of what had happened all those years ago.
But for now, there was Leo. And perhaps someday in the not too distant future, there would be other additions to their family, as well.
Epilogue
Eve poured five steaming cups of cocoa and added a touch of cherry syrup to each. It was Christmas morning after all, and that called for a special treat.
Then she carefully set each of the cups on her brand-new tea cart. Chance had given it to her this morning as her Christmas gift. She wasn’t certain exactly how he’d known she wanted it since she’d never got around to mentioning it, but somehow he always seemed to know these things.
She smiled softly as she traced her finger over the carved border—pretty little flowers on twining stems, and right in the center, a heart. A reminder, he’d said, that she had his heart, now and forever. It was her very first Christmas gift, other than the one given from heaven, and she didn’t think anyone had ever received a better one.
With a happy sigh, she pushed the cart to the doorway and paused a moment to view the beautiful tableau before her in the outer room.
She had to admit, Leo had been right—the tree he’d picked out was perfect for this place. They’d all pitched in to decorate it yesterday, even Chance’s father. And it looked beautiful.
Dotty and Mr. Dawson sat in two of the chairs arranged in front of the tree, deep in discussion, both wearing smiles.
Leo was on the floor playing with the toy soldiers Chance had given him a few minutes earlier, and Chance was stooped down beside him.
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