“Really?” Caroline’s tone showed her surprise. “My dad and Ted loved red meat. It’s Jason’s first choice, too.” She shrugged. “I just assumed all men did.”
Not long ago, his diet consisted of red meat and other rich, fatty foods. His mouth watered at the mention of pot roast. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be finicky. It’s just that I—”
“Don’t be sorry. I love trout almandine but seldom made it because it wasn’t well received at our table. Maybe if Ted had eaten less red meat and more fish, he’d be alive today.” Wide-eyed, Caroline stopped. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Rodney decided there’d be a better time to explain as strain replaced the lightheartedness in Caroline’s features. “Well, it sounds scrumptious to me.”
“Okay, we have a deal, then.” Caroline held her hand out. “I’ll cook.”
Rodney clasped the offered hand—dainty and smooth against his weather-worn skin. They shook on their agreement. “And I’ll design your website.”
“Now what do you want to do about your quilt?”
“You’re the professional—you tell me.” Rodney released her hand, then closed his into a loose fist in an attempt to hold on to Caroline’s warmth that lingered on his skin.
“I prefer to restore quilts, if I can. The fabric may be impossible to match, but like I mentioned, some companies replicate flour sack material. It’d be worth checking into to fix the torn block. If we found material and you chose to restore, I’d snip the ties and rip the hem edge out to separate the quilt top from the quilt back. Then I’d machine sew all the seams on the front blocks and back. If the fabrics raveled too much, I’d reinforce the blocks and use a tight zigzag or appliqué stitch on top of the seams to correct the problem. That would also add contrast to the block pattern. I’d replace the batting and retie the front to the back; then, using quilt binding, I’d finish the edges.”
Rodney appreciated that Caroline pointed to the areas of the quilt as she spoke, or she’d have lost him at “snip the ties.”
“If the fabric can’t be matched, then what?” he asked.
“You have a couple of choices. Many times, quilters make a mistake on purpose in a quilt. They’ll sew a block upside down or use opposite colors than the other blocks in the quilt, just so it’s not perfect. I could take the spoiled block out and replace it with a block made out of contrasting color, say, just white and yellow.”
Rodney tried to picture the quilt with a mismatched block. He wrinkled his nose.
The sweet tones of Caroline’s laughter bounced around the room. “That look has veto written all over it.”
“Can I veto the Queen of Quilts?” Rodney raised his eyebrows.
“Of course you can. It’s your quilt.”
“Then, in my opinion, it’d distract from the eye appeal of the quilt. What’s my other option?”
Caroline folded the quilt down to the row that held the shredded block. “I’d take the quilt apart like I described before. Instead of reinforcing these seams, I’d use a seam ripper to loosen the thread and take that row out of the quilt. Then I’d move the bottom row up. Your quilt will be shorter, almost a foot because these blocks are roughly ten by ten. I’ll have to cut the back to fit the new length of the front. The rest of the process is the same. I can use the good blocks and the fabric from the back to make pillow shams or a table runner. I’d have to put other fabric with it, but at least there’d be no waste of your heirloom, except for the ripped block.”
Rodney rubbed the back of his neck. His pinkie brushed the stubble at his hairline. “I’d like to try to restore it first.”
“Okay, the search for retro flour sack fabric is on!”
Caroline typed flour or feed sack fabric into a search engine and hit the ENTER key. She sipped her coffee and browsed the links that appeared on the screen. After viewing several different sites, they found unique and pretty patterns but none matching the fabric in Rodney’s quilt.
Although Caroline delighted in searching the Internet for matching fabric, Rodney’s interest waned. He enjoyed Caroline’s company, but he’d imposed on her time long enough. No sense wearing out his welcome. “You mentioned a fabric store earlier that might carry it.”
“Yes, it’s a quilt shop. They carry some replica fabric. If they don’t have what we need in the store, they may be able to special order for us. I advertise there. They direct clients my way. I have some quilts to pick up sometime this week, so I’ll take yours with me and maybe they can help us out.”
“Would you like company?”
Caroline frowned and sucked in a corner of her mouth.
Was she afraid that this was a date? Although he intended it to be, he tried to alleviate her apprehension. “I have some errands I need to run. We might as well save gas.”
After a few minutes, Caroline said, “I guess it’d be all right.” Worry continued to etch her features. “What day were you thinking?”
“It depends on the weather for me. Can I call you after the six o’clock weather report?”
“Sure. Meanwhile I’ll look through my quilt books and see if I can locate the name of this block.”
“I might have a response to my e-mails that sheds some light on the quilt’s origins. I probably should get going.”
“I’ll get your coat.”
Rodney waited by the door and watched Caroline descend the steps with his quilt neatly folded over her arm. Who knew this morning that he’d be designing a website and accompanying Caroline on a shopping trip? Rodney peered through the door glass at the winter sky and found his answer. A cloud blocked the sun, yet its rays broke through, casting shafts of light that seemed to connect heaven to earth. No longer taking anything for granted and knowing who was in control, Rodney whispered, “Thank You, Lord, for all the plans You have for me.”
Chapter 3
The unpredictable South Dakota weather postponed the trip to the quilt shop for about a week and a half. Temperatures dropped into the teens with some sort of precipitation every other day. Between plowing driveways and making sure his crew finished his clients’ sidewalks by either snowblowing or hand scooping, Rodney redesigned most of Caroline’s website.
Vitality surged through Rodney, a feeling he’d thought he’d never experience again and decided he missed. His creativity ebbed and flowed while working on Caroline’s website, forcing him to not only challenge but frustrate himself. The text he contributed had provided the right marketing punch. Credit for the eye-pleasing and user-friendly layout of the web page went to his former intern, Allison. In the short year since his resignation, the rapid change in technology stumped him more than once, so he called in a favor and asked Allison for help.
Today, God blessed him. His morning workout had seemed effortless as he mentally planned their day in Sioux Falls. Now Caroline’s flowery fragrance filled the pickup cab.
“I love the improvements you made to the website. It looks so professional.”
His chest swelled with pride at Caroline’s ecstatic reaction to the basic website changes. He did give his all to his current occupation, but clearing a driveway didn’t quite provide the same sense of accomplishment.
Caroline’s excited chatter about which quilts to photograph and upload to her website fueled his exuberance and made the hour-long drive between Riverside and Sioux Falls fly by. Nothing could do his heart more good.
“Lucky for me I photographed Mildred’s quilt. Your quilt will make great before-and-after pictures.”
The sun through the windshield accentuated the various tones of red in Caroline’s unencumbered curls. She pulled a white notepad from an oversized tote bag. “I’ll put that under ‘website plans.’ I’m writing down all the suggestions since my memory isn’t always reliable.”
“Don’t forget to include those two baby quilts, unless it will spoil the surprise for your son and his wife.”
Caroline sighed. “I doubt it will. I’ll make a n
ote of it.”
When Caroline looked up from the pad, concern replaced the twinkle in her blue eyes. In the past week he’d noticed the look every time she spoke of her son. He assumed it was Angela’s pregnancy, but when he asked, Caroline said everything was going great.
He regretted not having more family experience. Not knowing what to say to put her mind to rest, he prayed nightly that Caroline’s burdens would ease so everyday decisions would no longer cause her anxiety.
“Have you given any thought to Allison’s suggestion of posting a blog or newsletter on your website? She says either could increase hits to your site.”
“I’m leaning toward a blog, but I just don’t know yet. I want my business to succeed, so I weigh every decision carefully.”
Caroline sucked in the corner of her lower lip and turned toward the window as they passed dormant winter fields speckled with snow patches and cornstalk nubs.
Rodney’s people skills, honed to perfection from his previous career, included awareness of body language. The way Caroline turned from him and focused on the passing landscape indicated there was another reason she weighed every business decision. He suspected it had to do with money, but then again, he’d been wrong about her daughter-in-law’s health. He wished Caroline would confide in him, but it was too soon; even he knew that.
He did, however, intend this day to be fun. The business side of Caroline’s venture never failed to dampen her spirits. Her passion lay in the creative side of quilting.
“So you mentioned you had quilts to pick up today. For repair?”
Caroline shifted in her seat to adjust the fur-lined hood of her white parka over the shoulder belt. A royal blue turtleneck that deepened the blue in her eyes peeked out above the zipper.
“No, these quilts belong to the owner of the store. I do his quilting.”
“His quilting?” Surprise filled Rodney’s voice. “Isn’t the name of the store Granny Bea’s Quilts?”
“Yes, but Mark Sanders runs the quilt shop and fabric store. It’s his family’s business. He took over for his mom when her MS progressed, then continued to run the store in her memory. He buys quilts and quilt tops online or at auctions. I repair or finish them; then he uses them for display before he sells them at the shop.”
Rodney chuckled. “I see. I thought you meant he quilted.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Some men do quilt. It is an art form. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that there was. It’s just that I don’t know any…” Rodney laughed. “Actually, I don’t know anyone but you who quilts, so I stand corrected.”
“Mark’s a salesman. The only time I’ve seen him sew is while he’s demonstrating sewing or quilting machines to a customer. I purchased my regular sewing machine from him.”
“He’s an advertising opportunity then.” And a better son than me. Sure, Rodney had taken care of his mom before she died, but only because his own health demanded a life change.
“What do you mean?” Caroline’s sharp tone jolted Rodney back to the present. “Mark’s my friend. I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”
Something inside Rodney bristled at her last statement. Was Mark the reason she insisted this trip was strictly business? Her potential interest in another man never crossed his mind. Everyone at church agreed Caroline had crawled into a shell like a hermit crab after her husband’s death. He glanced at Caroline, the deep crease once again formed between her brows, a constant reminder of her worrisome nature.
Rodney gripped the steering wheel until the urge to massage the distress from Caroline’s forehead dissipated. He didn’t think his comment insinuated that Caroline should use Mark on the basis of their friendship.
“I meant, he believes in your work, so if a customer needs a service you provide, he’ll recommend you. Plus he displays your work in his shop.” Rodney hoped his explanation would ease her tension.
“Oh, word of mouth.” Relief erased the worry from Caroline’s features. “Just like Mildred.”
“Yes, just like Mildred. Her enthusiasm about your work is great advertising. The day I told her about Mother’s quilt, she almost marched me over to your house then and there.”
“I wish I could share my mental picture of that.” Caroline giggled. “Her sweet-heartedness compensates for all of her shortcomings. You’re right; that is the best kind of advertising because it’s free. I could ask Mark if he’d place a sign by the display quilts, saying ‘Quilted or repaired by Caroline Baker.’ And”—Caroline lifted the tablet from her lap—“I should include photos of the quilts I’ve worked on for Mark on my website. I’ll ask Mark if he took pictures of the Nine Patch, Log Cabin, and Flying Geese.” Caroline clicked her pen and began writing again.
Rodney shook his head. Must be quilter’s language.
As the outskirts of the city came into view, Rodney glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He’d mentally formulated the itinerary of their day while doing his three-mile morning run on the treadmill. He hoped Caroline found his schedule agreeable. Although he wanted to consider this outing a date, several times during the week Caroline had stressed that this was a business trip.
Rodney slowed his pickup at the speed limit sign, followed the highway around the curve that led to Sioux Falls, and prepared to stop as the first traffic light on the highway turned yellow. “Shall we grab some lunch, run my errands, and then stop by the quilt shop? That way we can take our time there and not be rushed.”
The right corner of Caroline’s bottom lip disappeared under her white teeth as the line between her brows began to deepen. She seemed mesmerized by the taillights on the car stopped in front of them.
My treat popped into Rodney’s head, but thankfully God was with him because he thought twice before he said it. “Have you eaten lunch already?”
Caroline’s expression held as she shook her head.
“What is it then?”
She turned her gaze to him and pursed her lips. He braced for another conversation about this not being a date.
“Well, I don’t know how to say this.” Caroline actually began wringing her hands. “I don’t want to sound forward or insult you, but…”
Her voice trailed off just as the light changed. Rodney focused on the traffic flow. This sounded like the start of a breakup speech. Although he hoped this would be a date, she didn’t. She’d made her stance on that clear. In the few seconds it took Caroline to clear her throat, doubt chipped away at the bravado of his meticulous planning. Tension pinched his shoulders as he flexed his biceps and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“I guess I’ll just say it.” She turned farther in her seat and looked directly at him. “I don’t want to offend you in any way, but since you drove, I’d like to buy your lunch.” Caroline didn’t wait for his response. “I haven’t held up my end of the bargain. You’ve worked on my website for two weeks, and I haven’t cooked dinner for you yet. So I only thought it fair that—”
“Okay.” Rodney relaxed his hold on the steering wheel. He preferred to pay, but Caroline’s broad smile showed him that this was important to her. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”
“Your choice. Fast food, truck stop, wherever you’d like to go.”
“Well, there’s a good soup and sandwich shop not far from here. How does that sound?”
Surprise registered in Caroline’s expression. “Appropriate in this weather.”
Caroline chose a booth over a table when the hostess asked their preference. They perused the menu while they waited for their coffee.
“The clam chowder sounds good. Have you ever had it here? I’m fussy about my chowder.” Caroline peered over the menu.
“No, I haven’t, but I’ve never been disappointed with anything I’ve tried here.”
“Still”—Caroline returned to her menu—“I think I’ll play it safe and have the creamy tomato and a grilled cheese. Have you decided?”
Rodney closed
the menu. “The vegetarian chili and turkey breast on whole grain.”
Once they placed their order, Rodney intended to use the opportunity to get to know Caroline better. Had she lived in Riverside her entire life? Did she have siblings? But before he took the initiative, Caroline pulled the notebook from her tote.
“I’d like your opinion on shipping costs. I’ll talk to Mark about them also since he often makes online purchases.”
A pang of disappointment caught Rodney off guard. What caused that feeling—the mention of Mark’s name and valued opinion, or that she was definitely looking at this outing as a business trip? At this rate she could write their lunches off on her taxes. He tapped his spoon lightly on the side of the mug before laying it back on the table. He gripped the handle to lift the mug. “I’m probably not much help in that area, but go ahead and bounce your ideas off me.” He raised his mug for a swig of decaf coffee.
“Of course, this may be presumptuous of me because I haven’t received any inquiries from my website or ads I placed in magazines, but I’d think potential customers would appreciate seeing shipping prices on my cost page since that’s not included in my pricing.”
“Good idea.”
“I plan to keep it simple, either certified mail with a return receipt or United Parcel Service. Both of those methods provide a way to track a package.”
“Does cost go by weight on those shipping methods?”
“I think so.” Caroline rubbed the spot between her brows before the worry divot formed. “So maybe that won’t work.”
Caroline slid her notepad to the side as their waitress placed their orders on the table. “It sure smells good.”
“Yes, it does.” Thank You, Lord, for this nourishment. Rodney lifted the soup spoon from the saucer. “Perhaps you’ll have to build shipping into your pricing. I’m sure Mark can shed some light on the shipping problem.”
“Speaking of Mark shedding some light on a problem”—Caroline swirled her soup with the corner of her grilled cheese sandwich—“I described your quilt to him, and he thinks he knows the name of the quilt block.” She bit the soup-softened corner of the bread.
Dakota Love Page 4