The Emerald Hills Collection

by Judith Post

  "And hit the mirror." Lolita tilted her head to the side, remembering a fortyish woman who'd come to her shop a year ago. A woman desperate to have children. "Did your sister adopt?"

  He narrowed his eyes--hazel. He had short, sandy-colored hair. Like his sister, if Lolita was remembering the right woman. "Yes. How did you know?"

  "I sold her the mirror. I remember my clients."

  A longer stare. "But you must have tons of them."

  "Oh, sorry, I meant the customers who buy my special mirrors."

  Now, he frowned. Frowns looked fine on him with his rugged good looks. "Special?"

  Lolita shrugged and opened her door wider. "Bring in the mirror and let me look at it."

  Relief made his frown disappear. "I'll be right back."

  When he returned, he laid the damaged mirror on her counter. Cracks webbed out from a chip in its center. Lolita bit her bottom lip. "Hmmm, this might take a while. I need to replace the entire glass."

  "My sister didn’t want that."

  Lolita waved his concern away. "I know what she's worried about. It's no problem. The mirror will still work."

  "I'm not following you." He looked at all the different shapes and sizes of merchandise on the walls. One in particular caught his gaze—her mirror that hung behind the register with a sign—Not For Sale. He scowled into it. Lolita glanced to see what attracted him, but only saw the reflection of a tall, handsome man. He looked down at her, a puzzled look on his face. "My sister swears these mirrors are magic. I've never believed her."

  "No reason to, but if it makes her happy…." She didn't advertise her magic. She let the mirrors choose whom they wanted. He wasn't pulling out his wallet to buy one, so he'd never know.

  He nodded at her mirror, its frame stained a new leaf-green and hand painted with flowers. "What do you see when you look at that one?"

  She looked. "Our reflections. The shop."

  His expression turned thoughtful. "And changing the glass won't change the magic?"

  "I thought you didn't believe in that. But no worries. When I fix the glass, it will work exactly like it did before."

  "I see." He rested his hip against the counter. "Do you need any help? I'm pretty handy."

  "No, I've done this for the last ten years, ever since I started helping my mother."

  "Is this a family owned shop?" He looked around, as if expecting to see someone else.

  Lolita shook her head. "No, I'm leasing to own. A tourist town only needs one mirror shop. Mom runs hers in Carolina. I moved here."

  "No father?"

  Lolita arched a brow. "That's a bit personal."

  "Sorry." He didn't look sorry. "My sister made such a big deal out of you and your mirrors, it made me curious."

  Lolita could feel her smile fade. "Gone. He drifted into town and eventually drifted out again. Didn't stay long."

  "The mirror couldn't warn your mother that might happen?"

  Lolita sighed. He was having trouble digesting whatever his sister told him, she could tell. He must be worried the mirror might lead her wrong, too. "IF you believed in magic, you'd know that no one who works with mirrors can see her own destiny in a reflection. At least, that's part of the myth."

  He gazed down at her, deep in thought. "That might explain it."

  "Explain what?"

  He shook himself. "Why it's all right for you to fix my sister's mirror."

  His answer confused her. It felt cobbled together, wrong. She sighed, dismissing it. "I'll have this ready for you tomorrow if you can come for it. Can you?"

  "I'll make sure to fit it into my schedule." He started for the door, but turned back. "How do your mirrors work exactly?"

  A trick question? She didn't make it a habit to talk about her magic. "You look in one and see yourself."

  He grinned—white, gleaming teeth against tanned skin. "And you saw my sister with two, adopted kids. What did you see when you looked at my reflection?"

  She wouldn't know. He'd have to buy a mirror for her to see more, and it appeared no mirror had called to him. "A well-adjusted, happy man."

  He nodded. "I am that. But there's always more, isn't there?"

  "I don't know." If he was yearning for something more, she couldn't tell.

  His gaze pinned her in place for a moment, then he shrugged. "I'd better go. I've already bothered you enough. Can I come for the mirror about this time tomorrow?"

  "I'll be here." She watched him walk to his black pickup and pull from the curb. For not believing in magic, he asked a lot of questions about it. He must be close to his sister…and protective. She locked the shop door again and went upstairs to her apartment. She'd change into her comfy clothes—snug sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt—and start supper. She'd take a break and then fix his sister's mirror.

  * * *

  He knocked on the shop door at 6:15 the next day. Lolita had been waiting, taking her time, straightening up the shop, until he got there. She stretched and yawned before she opened the door.

  He frowned down at her. "You look tired."

  The man had a way with words. "The mirror took a little longer than I expected. I stayed up later than usual."

  "It's a good thing it's Friday. You can sleep in tomorrow."

  "Me?" She blinked. "The weekends are always busy during tourist season."

  "You don't work seven days a week, do you?" He sounded ready to launch into a lecture. He must be a big brother, full of worldly advice. No, he looked to be in his mid-thirties. Just bossy. He and her mother would get along. Mom was full of free advice, too.

  Lolita shook her head. "I'm closed on Mondays. The six days a week is only through the tourist seasons. I have to make money while I can."

  "Sort of like construction," he said. "Things slow down once the weather turns bad."

  She started toward the counter. "The mirror's ready for you. Your sister will never be able to tell it broke."

  He lingered at the door. "I was wondering if I could take you out for supper as a thank you. I know you did a rush job for her. I appreciate that."

  She turned to him, surprised. He was gazing in her mirror again. "You really like that one, don't you? I make mirrors to special order."

  "That's a little flowery for me. Besides, we'd only need one, wouldn't we?"

  "We?" She smiled. "You can't come here to share my mirror."

  "I like the way you look in it."

  She raised an eyebrow and angled to see herself in its reflection. Shoulder-length, silky, white-blond hair. Gray eyes that tilted up at the corners. She grimaced. She worked in a shop full of mirrors and never looked at herself in any of them.

  He watched her carefully. "You made a face. Why?"

  "My reflection always looks like me." She wasn't digging for compliments. She was just being honest. Her nose was too big. Her lips too small. Her skin too pale.

  "You're a little hard on yourself, aren't you?"

  She shrugged. "The outside doesn't matter. It's what's inside that's important."

  He studied her a minute, then visibly shifted gears. "I'd like to get some food inside both of us. What do you say? Can I buy you supper as a thank you? Lizzie will never forgive me if I'm not extra nice to you."

  She was impressed with how much he cared about his sister. She looked at her watch. It was later than usual, and she was hungry. The shop had been so busy, she only had time to grab a quick snack and missed lunch. She smiled. "Sure, why not?

  He looked surprised. He'd expected a no. "Good, do you mind some place casual?" He motioned to his dusty jeans and shirt.

  "I'm too tired for anything fancy," she said. "Nancy's special is prime rib or all you can eat fish tonight. It'll be crowded there, but she opened a room just for people who live in Emerald Hills so that we don't have to compete with the tourists."

  "Perfect. Hop in the truck and give me directions." She grabbed her purse on the way out the door, and he shook his head. "I pay. I invited you."

  She grima
ced. "I can't read the menu if I don't have my glasses. They're in my purse."

  "Aren't you a little young for reading glasses?"

  "Probably, but I can't see small print without them." She locked up behind them and went to open the passenger door of his truck.

  He chuckled. "I take it you don't like it when men hold doors for you?"

  She could feel a blush burn her cheeks. "I never think about it. I'm used to taking care of myself."

  "You're not like most of the girls I date."

  She didn't want to know. He was so good-looking, he probably had a little, black book full of names. That reminded her. "I'm at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

  "Murphy. I've never met a Lolita."

  "Yeah, well, most people are disappointed. They expect someone more exotic."

  "When I tell people my name, they usually think of soap."

  She giggled. "Murphy soap. That didn't cross my mind."

  He grinned. "It will now, won't it?"

  The drive to Nancy's restaurant didn't take long, and she pointed him to the parking lot behind the long, narrow, gray clapboard building. From its back deck, the river was visible in the distance.

  Lolita led him through the rear, side door to the town's private dining room. Nancy's daughter, Amy, greeted them and led them to a booth on the far side of the room. People called their hellos to Lolita as she passed them.

  Murphy slanted his long legs under the table and let his gaze wander over the various shopkeepers. "Looks like you have a pretty close knit community."

  "Emerald Hills isn't that big, and everyone who owns or runs a shop tries to work together to bring in tourists and think up special events. We make a good team." She handed him a menu from the holder on the table. "What about you? Do you live in a city?"

  "No, I bought some property about twenty minutes from here. I built my company there, keep all my heavy equipment in sheds. Run my office there. Surrounded the whole thing with high fencing. Easy to lock up and keep secure."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Right now? In an apartment in Bloomington. Nothing to brag about, but it's close to my work place. You?"

  "Over my shop. I have two floors."

  Amy came and they ordered their food—prime rib for Murphy, fish for her. They decided to split a pitcher of beer. When she left, Murphy said, "It sounds like you have a good deal. You probably use one of the floors as a work room, right, for your mirrors?"

  "No, I've got plenty of space downstairs. I live on the second floor. I haven't really done anything with the top one."

  Talk stopped when their food came. Murphy told her about a big housing addition he was helping to build. "We're digging a pond in the middle, and making a golf course along one side. And then we're digging trenches for all the pipes and drainage. It'll keep us busy for a long time. They just got their finances together, so we're still in the dirt work stage."

  By the time they finished and Murphy paid their bill, Lolita was struggling not to yawn.

  "Sorry, I've rambled on about my work, and I've bored you to death." He led her to his truck and held the door for her.

  "Not you," she said. "I enjoyed myself. I'm just tired."

  It was a short drive back to her shop. He followed her inside to get his sister's mirror. When he paid for that and was ready to leave, he hesitated. "I liked Nancy's. If I call you, can we go there again?"

  She frowned. "Anyone can go there. You just can't sit in the private dining room."

  He sighed. "I'm trying to ask you out on another date."

  She stared at him, confused. "Why? You already have the mirror."

  "Because I like you. I'd like to see you again."

  "Soon?"

  He laughed. "You don't need to make it sound like a death sentence. This was nice. Most girls talk too much or flirt too hard. It was easy to relax with you."

  "So we'd be friends."

  His hazel eyes lit with amusement. "Yes, friends. Someone to hang out with on a Friday night."

  "Sundays would be better."

  He shrugged. "Okay, Sundays then. Can I call you?"

  "Sure." She watched him smile, then turn and leave the shop. Had she made the right decision, saying yes? She shrugged. It would be nice to have a friend to yak with. He had plenty of girls that would offer more, so he must be looking for something low-key, just like she was. Suppers on Sundays might work.

  She pushed him from her mind and climbed the stairs to her apartment. After changing into her pajamas, she burrowed under her sheets and reached for her book. A new Patricia Briggs. Werewolves and Mercy Thompson struggled against their latest adversary, and she was hooked.

  * * *

  Murphy called on Sunday.

  "But we saw each other two nights ago," Lolita said.

  "That doesn't mean I won't be hungry tonight," he told her.

  She sighed. "Oh, all right. I forgot to thaw anything anyway."

  He didn't take it the wrong way, like some people would. He realized she was simply stating a fact. "Good, then I'll pick you up at five. But we need to make it quick. I have to go to bed early. I have an early start Monday morning."

  She didn't take that the wrong way either. She understood. They didn't talk as much over their meal this time, and Lolita came home feeling relaxed and refreshed. She usually felt like she had to be entertaining on dates, but Murphy seemed perfectly fine with just her company.

  Rain started at the end of the next week. No, more than rain. Torrential downpours. A few tourists braved the weather, but business was slow. Lolita had plenty of time to meet her supplier when he came to deliver her glass. His box truck pulled behind what had once been the kitchen at the back of the house. She'd converted it into a workroom.

  The driver came in faster than usual, pushed on his brakes, and went into a skid on the wet asphalt. Lolita scrambled to get out of the way as the truck rammed into the back wall of the building. When the dust settled, her house had a hole in it. The truck's hood tented, and steam rushed from its radiator.

  A half hour later, a wrecker towed the truck out of the back drive. The glass company promised its insurance would fix her house, and workers installed heavy plastic sheeting over the hole to keep her workroom dry.

  Two hours later, Lolita fought back tears. Every repairman she'd called had more jobs lined up than they could keep up with. What was she going to do? When the phone rang, she hoped it was one of the people she'd called who'd found an opening.

  It was Murphy. "I know this is Friday, but the weather's been miserable. We couldn't work today. Too much mud. I'm restless. I was wondering if we could go to Nancy's for supper."

  "Why not?" Maybe it would take her mind off her problem for a minute.

  "Are you okay? You sound like my sister when she's been crying."

  "I'm fine."

  "I know that tone. That's what Lizzie says, too. I'll be there at six."

  She hung up the phone and looked at herself in her mirror. Puffy eyes. A red nose. She sighed. She'd try to look decent by the time Murphy got there.

  Three hours later, when he knocked on the door, she looked almost presentable. Wind gusted outside, and sheets of rain poured. She let him in and reached for her raincoat and purse. He stopped, frowning.

  "There's a draft in here."

  She bit her bottom lip. "There's a hole in my house."

  "A hole?" He stared at her, not comprehending.

  She motioned him into the workroom.

  "How did you do that?"

  "I didn't do it." She explained about the truck.

  He let out a slow whistle. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt."

  A man with a positive attitude. Great. She sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. You promised me supper."

  "Right." He reached for her arm and led her out of the house. He held the door for her at his pickup.

  "I'm not helpless," she said. "You don't have to stand out there, getting wet. I can walk and open doo
rs, you know."

  "That's not the way my mother raised me, so get over yourself." She blinked. Did he really say that to her? She turned to him, eyebrow high, but he waved her ill humor away. "You know, this could work for both of us."

  "Opening doors for me?"

  "No, the hole in your house. It's supposed to rain all next week. I can't work, but I can't really afford to sit around, doing nothing. Your insurance will pay whoever fixes your damage. If I fix it, they'll pay me--if you trust my skills, that is, and if you haven't already hired someone."

  "You can fix my house?"

  He grimaced. "I work construction. I started on a building crew. I can do it all."

  As he pulled away from the curb, a sliver of relief worked itself from her shoulders down her spine, through her nerves, to her entire body. "You're hired."

  His lips quirked. "I don't have to send you a resume', statements from past, satisfied customers?" It was a short drive. He pulled close to the side door for Nancy's restaurant to let her out.

  "You don't have to do that. I brought my umbrella."

  "Just get out and enjoy it," he said. "Let me do you a favor."

  She glanced around the inside of the truck. "You don't have an umbrella. We can share."

  He pointed. "Get out."

  She didn't argue. She slid out of the pickup and hurried into the restaurant, out of the rain. Amy seated her, and she waved to Murphy when he entered. His sandy hair was wet, his jeans damp, but she bit back an "I told you so."

  They ordered their usual pitcher of beer before scanning the Friday night specials.

  "I guess I'll get the meatloaf tonight," he said. "I have to tell you, though, this weather always makes me hungry for chili."

  She ordered chicken livers and French fries. "I haven't made chili for a while. It's no fun, making it for one person."

  His hazel eyes lit with interest. "You like to cook?"

  "I love it. In the winter, I bake on Mondays, but I have to give away half of it. I can't finish it all myself."

  Murphy sighed. "You know, I was thinking, if I stayed at your place, I could get a lot more work done."

  "My place?" Did her voice squeak? Lolita gripped the edges of her chair.