by Lynn Patrick
His eyebrows flicked and he seemed to be smothering a smile.
“I was wondering why you’re living with your aunt.”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Just trying to get all the facts, ma’am.”
Kristen sat back in her chair and fell silent. Now that she was able to see him clearly in the light, she realized he was a good-looking man, probably in his early thirties. He had dark hair, gray eyes, a slight cleft in his chin and a smile that would be nice if it wasn’t plastered sarcastically on his face.
Was it her imagination, or was Police Chief Alex Novak being just a little too personal here?
Her gaze went to his left hand—no ring—and then back to his speculative expression. He knew her aunt. He knew her sister. He knew her brother. So let me go home, already.
“Are you going to arrest me or not?”
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether Margaret Becker will vouch for you.” He looked beyond her. “And there she is now.”
“Aunt Margaret?”
Kristen twisted around in her seat and saw her aunt at the front desk, talking to the woman named Janet. Still dressed in what Kristen thought of as satin lounging pajamas, Aunt Margaret had merely put on a pair of sandals and thrown a light wrap around her shoulders for modesty before leaving the house. Neither Janet nor the officers who greeted her before going out the door seemed to think her manner of dress unusual.
Suddenly, Aunt Margaret marched toward the police chief’s office, her face set in a frown. To Kristen’s great relief, she saw the purse she’d left in the store in her aunt’s hands. Also to her relief, her aunt looked fine, not sick, after all.
“Alex, what is going on?” Margaret shifted her attention to Kristen. “Hello, honey.” She handed over Kristen’s purse. “What a terrible thing to have happen on your first day working for me.”
“So, this is your niece?”
“Of course she is, Alex. Who else would she be? Can’t you see the resemblance?”
Kristen smothered a smile. If there ever had been a resemblance between them, her aunt’s spiked red hair and penchant for bright colors like the orange-and-teal print of the pajamas she was wearing kind of smothered it.
To her irritation, although he was wearing a straight face, Alex said, “Yes, of course, Margaret. Your niece looks just like you.”
Aunt Margaret beamed. “Well, we’re going to be off now. Time to get some sleep. Come on, Kristen, I’ll drive you back to your car.”
“Hey, wait a minute—”
Aunt Margaret stopped dead in her tracks, narrowed her gaze on the police chief and added a slight chill to her tone. “Wait for what, Alex? You don’t have a problem with my niece, do you?”
“Uh, no, of course not.”
“Good. Then we’ll see you later.”
If Kristen wasn’t so tired, she would have laughed at the frustration on Alex Novak’s face. Whatever he’d been maneuvering for, he was disappointed.
That thought made her feel just a little better after he’d added more stress to her already disastrous evening.
*
“YOU’LL FEEL BETTER after you have something to eat,” Aunt Margaret promised as they entered the house through the kitchen entrance.
Kristen wasn’t so sure of that. Trying to deal with the police chief on top of her awful first day at the store had stressed her out enough for a month. “Maybe I should just go to bed.”
Her aunt was already in the refrigerator. “Never go to bed hungry. Have a little something.” She pulled out a covered container. “Macaroni and cheese?”
“All right.” Kristen couldn’t resist an old favorite comfort food after all she’d been through that night. “But just a little.”
She fetched a small bowl from a cabinet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had mac and cheese, maybe not since she’d been in school. It wasn’t the kind of dish she would have sought out in multi-ethnic Chicago, but in Wisconsin, it seemed perfect, Wisconsin being the cheese state and all.
“Just sit,” her aunt said, taking the bowl out of her hands and pulling a spoon from a drawer. “It’ll only take two minutes to heat up in the microwave.”
Kristen gladly sat on a stool at the marble-topped island and watched her aunt move around the huge designer kitchen she so rarely used.
From the outside, the classic French Normandy stone manor was entrenched in the landscape, as if it had overlooked the lake forever. The inside had been renovated by the previous owner—the kitchen and baths were only fifteen years old—but the style was still quite traditional. Too traditional for the artist in Aunt Margaret.
Kristen loved the house, but she didn’t feel at home here, not even in the huge guest suite. In addition to her bedroom and walk-in closet, she had a nice-sized sitting room and a spa-worthy bathroom. The guest suite was nearly as big as her own apartment had been, she thought morosely, remembering how the bank had foreclosed on her condo after she’d used up most of her savings.
“Here you go, honey.” Aunt Margaret set the bowl and a fork before her. “Eat up. Then you can get some sleep.”
“Thanks.”
Kristen’s mouth watered at the smell. Of course her aunt had overloaded the bowl with food, and she couldn’t possibly eat it all this late. She slid a forkful into her mouth and just let it melt there before swallowing. It tasted so good it nearly made her toes curl.
Her aunt slid onto a stool across from her. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I have an early meeting at the university tomorrow.”
Kristin took another forkful. “A faculty meeting?” And another.
“Actually, it’s with my dean. I’m turning in my resignation.”
Surprised, Kristen asked, “Why? I thought you loved teaching.”
The bowl was half-empty. She ought to stop now.
“I do love teaching, but I’m tired, honey. Teaching full-time and running the store have worn me out. I haven’t had the energy or time to do the things I want.”
“But Heather is managing the store now.” Her aunt was still teaching quilting classes and stepping in to work the store if someone called in sick, but that was nothing compared to managing the place.
“Your sister is a hard worker. I’m very grateful that she stepped up. But teaching full time…” She shook her head. “Even though I will resign, I can still be an adjunct in the department and teach a sketching or painting class a semester. It’s the students I love. What I don’t love is committee work. Thank goodness that as an adjunct I won’t have to go to all those boring meetings anymore.”
Kristen couldn’t imagine being without something to do every moment. Then again, her aunt had decades of that behind her. Nearing seventy, she deserved to slow down if she wanted. She simply didn’t act like a senior citizen. Didn’t look it, either. She kept her hair the same bright red it had always been, and she must be using some incredible skin products, because the only wrinkles she had were the welcoming smile lines around her striking hazel eyes.
“What will you do with all that extra time you’ll have?” Kristen asked, deciding that maybe she could have one more bite of the luscious mac and cheese.
“For one, I would like to make some plans to travel. And I want do something with this house to make it more livable.”
“Aunt Margaret, this place is great as it is,” Kristen said, though it was starting to look a little shabby in places and needed quite a bit of maintenance.
“You know, I’ve been wanting to transform it with color.”
Ever since her husband, Donald, had died, Aunt Margaret had threatened to paint the walls bright colors and perk up the whole place with pieces of art, but she hadn’t done anything yet. Not even normal maintenance. The only room her aunt had ever redesigned was her studio, and that must have been shortly after she’d married Donald and moved in with him.
“Sounds great,” Kristen said, putting t
he last forkful of food in her mouth. “We’ll have to talk more about it tomorrow when you get home.” Unbelievably, she’d finished every morsel. Tempted to lick the bowl clean, she restrained herself and took it and the fork to the sink, rinsed them and set them in the dishwasher. “Aunt Margaret, about the store window—”
“Don’t worry about it, honey, it’s easily fixed.”
“If you’ll tell me who to call, I’ll take care of it first thing when I get to the store.”
“All right. I’ll put the name and number of my handyman right here on the counter before I leave for the university in the morning. And I’ll call Heather, too, so she won’t be shocked.”
“Great.” Kristen yawned, then kissed her aunt’s cheek. “Now I need go pass out.”
Which is exactly what she did upon entering her room. She didn’t bother stripping down any further than removing her dirty suit jacket and skirt. She didn’t take a shower. She was falling-down exhausted. Thinking she could take care of any mess tomorrow, she simply turned off the light and fell face-forward onto the bed.
The moment her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.
*
ALEX SAW THE light go out on the east side of the house. Kristen Lange’s room? The patrol car’s engine running, he sat on the road a hundred yards from Margaret Becker’s home, a small mansion compared to most homes in this community.
He hadn’t meant to come this way tonight, but heading for home from the station, he’d stopped at a convenience store for some food for Spike, a stray cat he’d been taking care of, then found himself taking the long way around the lake. He’d tried convincing himself that he was checking on the Lange kid, Kristen’s brother. But he didn’t figure he would find Brian skulking around at this hour.
He had to admit it was the woman herself who interested him right now. Kristen Lange didn’t seem like a typical small-town girl coming back to her roots. Although he wasn’t exactly small town, either.
Maybe it was the Chicago connection that drew him to her. There were aspects of the big city he didn’t miss, but there were others he did. Plus, most of his family still lived in Chicago. Unless it was rush hour or construction season, it was only a ninety-minute drive away, so he got back to see them often enough.
Still, the women here were softer, less likely to give him a run for his money. They didn’t have that edge that attracted him. He needed a challenge in his life that had nothing to do with work, and Kristen Lange was spicy enough to make him anticipate their next encounter.
*
MARGARET POURED HERSELF a glass of lemonade and sat in the small bay window off the living room overlooking Sparrow Lake. She and Donald had spent many pleasant evenings together there, just talking and enjoying the view. After two bad marriages that had ended in divorce, she’d finally found her soul mate in Donald. When she’d lost him, she’d bought the quilting store and had thrown herself into managing it, in addition to teaching, to fill the empty spaces in her life.
But now her life wasn’t so empty.
When Heather’s husband had been killed in Iraq, the poor girl had been devastated. She’d also been left with twin toddlers. Margaret had given her niece a job at Sew Fine and all the emotional aid she had needed, and now Heather was like a daughter to her. Her nephew, Brian, had moved back from California to go to college in Wisconsin, and she’d opened her doors, giving him a place to live and a part-time job at the store. Finally, Kristen had come home after more than ten years, though her niece thought it was simply to recoup and regroup before going back out into the dog-eat-dog business world.
Margaret had plans for Kristen. She’d feigned sickness so that her niece would immediately get wrapped up in the business end of Sew Fine. Smiling at the thought, she toasted the lake that held Donald’s ashes.
“I’ll always love you, my darling,” she whispered. “And I’ll see you again one day, but for now I have to move on and discover new possibilities.”
Margaret was thinking how nice a new man in her life would be.
As hard as it was for a strong and usually independent woman to admit, she had loved the excitement of a romance. Her first two marriages had been fun and exciting until they weren’t anymore, the reason she’d ended them. They’d been short-lived, but she had nothing to regret.
And then she’d met Donald.
Margaret sighed. She would never meet another Donald, of course. But maybe someone nice to keep her company once in a while wouldn’t be too much to ask.
That, and new possibilities for her lovely niece, who had become too serious, too driven and too obsessed with the idea of being a failure ever since Margaret’s younger brother, Sam, had abandoned his family.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU WERE TRYING to do what?” Heather asked, as she stared up at Sew Fine’s broken window. Then she took a good look at Kristen and snickered. “Dressed in your designer duds? I would have paid to see that.”
“It wasn’t all that funny, believe me. Especially not when the police chief caught me.”
“Alex caught you?”
Alex? So her sister knew him on a first-name basis. And from the sound of Heather’s voice, she was highly amused by the idea of Alex having the upper hand.
“He’s an impossible man. Wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say until he got me down to the station.”
Heather snorted. “Did he handcuff you?”
“Get that suggestive tone out of your voice! There was nothing even vaguely fun or amusing about what happened to me. Alex Novak is a bully.”
“Really,” her sister drawled.
Kristen took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. Heather was being Heather, trying to drive her nuts, just as she had since they were kids.
They were adults now, and Heather had matured in other ways, managing the business and working toward a college degree while being a great mother. Matured, except for the way she presented herself. She still wore mostly jeans, sweatshirts or sweaters and running shoes. Her fine-boned face was make-up free other than a swipe of lip gloss, and her long, thick, light-brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. Still loyal to her late husband’s memory, Heather might dress this way on purpose, Kristen thought. Even so, Heather was attractive now, but with a little work she could be stunning. Then again, stunning would be hard to maintain while running after five-year-old twins.
Pulling the note Aunt Margaret had left from her pocket, Kristen said, “I need to get the window fixed. I already called this Chuck Hansen before leaving the house, but he hasn’t returned my call.”
“Maybe he ignored it because you called from your cell and he doesn’t have that number.”
“Maybe.”
While Kristen made her call from the store phone, the first customer of the morning entered and engaged Heather.
Not so happily, Kristen had to leave a second message on Chuck’s cell.
“Hi, this Kristen Lange again, calling about the broken window at Sew Fine. I should be here all day, so as soon as you get this, I would appreciate a return call. Thank you.”
The handyman didn’t need to know who broke the window or why, though she wouldn’t be surprised if word had already gotten out and was spreading around town. She could imagine the Chief taking delight in sharing the tale with his buddies.
She saw him in her mind’s eye, snarky smile pulling up the corners of his mouth….
The bell above the front door tinkled. Kristen looked that way to see another customer come in and start browsing through fabrics.
Then a black-and-white vehicle outside the store caught her attention. Kristen blinked. That was a patrol car. So why was it sitting there, as if the officer behind the wheel had an eye on the store?
Who exactly was out there? The police chief himself?
What in the world did he think he was doing, casing the store?
She started toward the front door, but before she could get close enough to check, the squad car pulled away from the curb and drove of
f.
She didn’t want to think about the man who had been so miserable to her in the middle of her crisis, anyway, Kristen told herself. She would concentrate on business. She went to the rear of the store—the “office” area—and sat at the desk. She started the computer, thinking to pick up where she’d left off at one in the morning.
Aunt Margaret had asked her to familiarize herself with Sew Fine and see if she had any ideas on how to grow the business.
Three years ago, with a newly earned MBA, she’d gotten a position in marketing with Chicago Lifestyle, a small sporting goods company. In less than a year, she’d been promoted to director of marketing and had helped double sales. But when the economy had taken another dip the following year, the company had “reorganized” and she had been out of a job.
Doing Aunt Margaret’s bidding was actually her kind of thing and allowed her to keep her talents sharp while looking for a real job.
The store itself was huge. Bolts of fabric and notions took up one side of the space. On the other side of the aisle were a dozen long tables with sewing machines, doubled to face each other, so women taking classes could chat. Sample quilts and smaller quilted pieces hung on both walls, making the store warm and inviting.
Working that long day yesterday had given Kristen a pretty good overview of how the business worked.
Sew Fine was open six days a week with late hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays for quilting classes. And there were two classes on Saturdays, one for kids, the other for teens. Training them to be lifelong customers, she thought. Great long-tail marketing idea there.
The store seemed to be doing a comfortable business for the number of people employed. Heather was the only full-time employee. Gloria Vega and Louise Powell each worked twenty hours a week, and Kristen’s brother Brian ran errands and cleaned up in the store two or three hours a day. The advanced quilting class was taught by Aunt Margaret. Kristen wondered if she would continue teaching now that she wanted to retire, or if they would need to find someone to replace her.
The profit after paying the staff definitely could be better for Aunt Margaret. She would get a pension from the university, of course, but that huge house of hers probably chewed up her cash on a regular basis. She’d used the money Donald had left her to pay off the mortgage and the exorbitant taxes. And as Kristen had already realized, the house needed work.