Eve couldn't have been more than a child then. He remembered pictures of the young senator. She had vibrated life and energy and enthusiasm. Just as Eve did. "You favor her."
Memories of her mother danced like a phantom across her heart. She shook them away. "My mother was beautiful."
He skimmed a finger along her cheek. "So are you."
"Trying to score points, Senator?" A hard note edged her voice.
The tightening of his lips was the only sign that he'd acknowledged her hit.
"I'm only stating the facts."
She felt churlish and small. The fact was talking about her mother was a pleasure-pain that still had the power to cause her heart to tighten. Though she'd struggled to hold onto them, she had only scattered memories of her mother now, sprinkled across the years like so many bright beads torn from a broken strand.
"Someday maybe you'll trust me enough to tell me why you're so determined to keep me at arm's length."
"What's the matter, Senator? Haven't you ever been rejected before?"
"No."
The simple arrogance of the word had a smile nudging at her lips. "Senator…Daniel."
"Daniel, I've already told you my feelings about dating politicians."
"Don't you ever live dangerously?"
"Sure. I take risks all the time." Her voice hushed, she said, "I don't always floss after I brush. Once I even tore the tag off a pillow. You know, the one that says, 'Don't remove under penalty of law.'" She looked around. "Don't let it get out."
His voice equally low, he said, "I won't."
"I knew you could be trusted."
"Even if I'm a politician?"
"Even if you're a politician."
And she did. He radiated integrity and a simple goodness that was too frequently missing from figures in public life.
Regret sharpened her voice as she hardened her heart to say what needed to be said. "Goodbye, Senator."
He ignored that. "Have dinner with me tonight." At her silence, he urged, "I'm only trying to get to know you better. Any harm in that?"
"No harm," she said at last. "As long as you don't mind getting turned down."
"I'm a patient man." He gave her time to digest the implications of his words before taking himself off.
* * * *
Zachary Samuel Hastings let out a piercing wail, bringing the visiting minister's remarks to a close.
Chuckles could be heard from the congregation, with a loud Amen coming from Ethan Sandberg.
Carla whispered something to the minister who nodded.
"Who stands up for this child?" he asked.
"We do," Eve and Daniel said in unison.
The reverend led the gathering in prayer. The ceremony completed, he gestured for the people to congratulate the new family.
Moved by the simple ceremony and the promises she'd made as Zachary's godmother, Eve searched for a tissue in her purse.
"Let me." Gently, Daniel took his own handkerchief and dabbed at the tears that stained her cheeks.
"Thanks." She sniffled. "Seems like we've done this before."
"Seems like."
Carla and Sam invited Eve and Daniel along with the entire congregation of Carla's church to their home for a celebration party.
The church ladies, headed by Mrs. Miller, had outdone themselves. They bore casseroles and cupcakes. Pot-roast and pies. Soups and salads.
Zachary occupied the center of attention. Apparently enjoying his role, he cooed and gurgled as he was fussed over.
With a promise to Carla to help in the kitchen, Eve made sure the platters of food remained full and clean dishes were available. When it appeared that everyone had been served, she joined the others in the front room.
"They make a beautiful family," a voice murmured at her side. Daniel's arm slipped around her.
Because he echoed her sentiments exactly, she stayed where she was.
"Do you want that?" he asked.
Her glance shifted to where Carla held Zach on her shoulder with Sam standing beside them, his hand fitted to the small of her back, the gesture both protective and tender. "With the right person."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
The question was provocative, as he intended it should be, she guessed. She did the only smart thing and ignored it.
Sharing the duties of godparent with Daniel Cameron was the last thing she had expected. How was she supposed to avoid him when they were thrown together at every opportunity?
"I have to go," she said.
"Have to or want to?"
"Right now, they're the same thing." She slipped away from the hand that still rested at her waist and made her way over to Carla and Sam. After saying her goodbyes, she left. She half expected Daniel to try and stop her, but he remained where he was.
The niggling sense of disappointment she experienced on the way home had nothing to do with him, she assured herself. It was a natural letdown after a full day.
That evening, she watched television and tried not to think about a man with serious eyes and a mouth that could turn up at the corners at the least provocation.
Her lack of success was measured by the way she sat through her favorite Hepburn-Tracy movie without realizing what she was watching. By the time the closing credits showed on the screen, she knew she was in trouble.
Chapter Three
The beauty of owning her own shop was the freedom. Eve understood herself well enough to know she couldn't have tolerated working for someone else. Not that she minded taking orders. Well, maybe she did, just a little, she admitted in a spurt of honesty.
It was a matter of choice. As the sole proprietor, she could choose what she would make, what she would keep for herself, what she would sell. She set her own hours and created her own atmosphere.
It was a heady feeling, knowing the success—or failure—of her business depended upon no one but herself. She reveled in the knowledge and in the responsibility. If it became overwhelming sometimes, she recognized that the pressure would ease eventually.
She closed her shop promptly at five. She might spend the evenings spinning or experimenting with dyes, but she'd decided from the onset that she wouldn't be a slave to her business. The merchant in her demanded that she keep regular hours; the artist in her required she take time to dream.
Dreaming fed her soul. Without it, she would lose the essence of herself. And that would destroy whatever it was that made her work unique.
The best move she'd made was hiring Ron Franks. She'd met him through the mentor program sponsored by the local high school. He'd worked out so well that she'd made him assistant manager within a month, giving her time to take an hour or so off when it suited her mood.
Some might call her undisciplined. She knew better. Her work was important to her. So was her play. She was smart enough to understand that one enhanced the other. Without both, she wouldn't feel whole.
She could work at her spinning for twenty-four hours straight and then crash for the next twenty-four. The need to create didn't adhere to a schedule. Or she might keep to an eight hour work day for weeks at a time without feeling stifled.
Creation, like life itself, operated at its own cycle. She had accepted hers and didn't feel obligated to apologize for it. Her way might not work for some, but it allowed her the freedom she needed.
Ron worked every day after school and all day Saturday. She paid him well and encouraged him with his art. The arrangement suited them both. Ron had quickly become more than an employee, and she knew she'd miss him when he graduated next year and started college.
The service auction would go a long way toward providing scholarships for Ron and kids like him who were long on talent and short on money. Apparently she wasn't the only one who recognized his gift. Ron's art teacher had already approached Eve about writing a letter of recommendation for him when the time came to apply to college.
When the doorbell sounded, she muttered something rude. An idea for a floor length
vest with matching tunic and pants had teased her brain all day, and she was just now putting it to paper. She wasn't above ignoring interruptions, but tonight something moved her to cross the room and open the door.
"You."
Daniel Cameron stood there. Impossibly handsome in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked as far removed from a United States senator as it was possible to be. As she'd guessed, his casual clothes didn't detract from his looks. On the contrary, they enhanced his attractiveness.
"Can I come in?" he asked when she continued to stare at him.
She thought about shutting the door in his face and decided against it. He looked quite capable of forcing his way in.
Besides, she found that she wanted company. Not that he was first her choice, she told herself. But he was handy.
She opened the door wider and took a step back.
"I needed to see you." With one long stride, he was but a scant inch from her. His nearness, combined with the frank admission, made the heat pop out on her cheeks.
He didn't follow up the remark with another, and she relaxed fractionally.
He looked about. Because she was a sucker for anyone who was interested in her craft, she showed him around. The colors and the textures were a part of her. She was vain enough to want others to appreciate them, philosophical enough to realize that many wouldn't.
She waited. Oddly, Daniel's reaction mattered. She refused to worry about why and held her breath as he fingered a particularly vividly colored jacket. Done in indigos and purples, with slashes of turquoise, it wouldn't appeal to everyone. She found her normally calm hands restless and linked them together to keep them still.
"Beautiful," he murmured. His fingers continued to caress the garment, but his gaze rested on her.
She resisted the urge to fuss with her hair. She'd started the day with her long hair twisted on top of her head in a casual arrangement of curls. Heat and work had sent it tumbling down her face and neck in an array of wisps and waves that refused her efforts to tame it with a brush.
"It's one of my favorites," she confided.
"Is it for sale?" Price tags were conspicuous only by their absence.
Eve would go to the stake before admitting it, but she couldn't bear to attach prices to her creations. Instead, she sized up the potential customer and her feelings about the piece in question. She never overcharged, but neither did she undervalue her work. In the end, her system, though unprofessional, suited both her and her customers. No one ever complained about her unconventional pricing, and she was content to have her designs going to people who appreciated them.
The success of her system was borne out by profits that continued to amaze her. If anyone had told her four years ago when she'd started her business that she'd be this successful, she'd have laughed. Over the years, she'd dabbled in pottery, stain glass, and photography. All had held her interest for a few months before she grew restless and moved on to something different. That she'd shown talent for each wasn't enough to keep her attention. Once she'd mastered a craft, she soon became bored, eager to try something new.
Weaving and spinning had been the exception. Maybe it was lure of the colors. Creating her own had appealed to her from the first. And the feel of the different textures—nubby and coarse contrasting with silky and smooth.
Aware that Daniel was waiting, she said, "We're closed."
"Maybe you'd make an exception." Taking her hand in his, he traced the fine veins visible through the fair skin on the underside of her wrist.
Her pulse leapt then steadied. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying rather than on the feelings he was arousing within her. "Maybe." Gently, she freed her hand. "Did you have someone special in mind?"
"Carla. I brought the baby Wilbert, but I figured she'd like something for herself."
Because Eve had always felt that new mothers needed extra pampering and attention, she felt herself warming to him. The man showed a sensitivity she hadn't credited him with. That part of her that softened toward him would never be able to harden again. "It's yours." Briskly, she removed the garment from the hanger and placed it in a gift box. Within minutes, it was wrapped with hand stenciled paper, a bow fashioned of her own spun yarn topping it.
"How much?" he asked.
She chewed on her lip before naming a price. She'd lose money on it, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the jacket was going to a friend.
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Drawing a checkbook from his pocket, he filled out a check and handed it to her.
Without glancing at it, she rang up the sale and put it in the cash register.
"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.
"I was going to throw together a salad." She thought of the head of limp lettuce in her refrigerator and grimaced. Salads were for rabbits, her father had frequently maintained.
"A woman who likes food as much as you do is settling for a salad?" He grabbed her hand. "Come on." When she hesitated, he gave her a shrewd look. "Or are you afraid?"
He knew, darn him. He knew she couldn't resist a challenge.
Besides, she didn't really want to be alone. She was in the mood for conversation.
He held out his hands to his sides, palms up. "You can call the shots."
She considered. Just because she didn't date politicians didn't mean she had to deny herself a pleasant evening. And the promise of a good meal. The rationalization—oh, yes,—she recognized it for what it was—caused her to smile. As long as she knew it, she'd be fine. "Give me five minutes to change."
Daniel explored the shop. He figured he had fifteen minutes, maybe thirty, before she returned. No woman of his acquaintance took only five minutes to change clothes.
Her shop was a reflection of the woman herself. Color and texture, energy and rich scents that he discovered came from a simmering pot of potpourri. Unexpected flashes of humor and bits of whimsy—who else would have stationed a ceramic cocker spaniel standing guard at the door—mingled comfortably with one-of-a-kind garments.
Another bit of the puzzle of the woman who continued to intrigue him more each time he saw her.
He was learning. It was a mistake to try to anticipate this woman, to try to predict her reaction to any given situation.
She was like no woman he'd ever known.
She owned a business, stocked it with her own designs and still managed to find time to help disadvantaged teenagers. She knew the business of politics, could hold her own in a society party, and had walked away from a world many considered the quintessence of glamour and power.
It threw him. At first he'd tried to fit her into a slot. Then he'd realized Eve couldn't be categorized. She was her own person, content with who and what she was.
No wonder she'd baffled him at first. In Washington, everyone was so busy pretending to be more than they were. With Eve, what you saw was what you got. A warm, vibrant woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.
When she reappeared within the stated time, he could only stare. She wore a long cream-colored skirt paired with a matching blouse, both out of some soft, flowing material. Her only jewelry was a heavy gold pendant.
"Yours?" he asked, unable to resist touching the finely woven cloth that draped across her shoulders.
She nodded.
"I like it."
That drew a smile from her, and she slipped her arm in his.
"Where're we going? Someplace wildly expensive with lots of atmosphere and menus you need a translator to understand?"
He kept his smile under wraps. "You'll see."
The restaurant had always been one of his favorites. Tucked between two high-rise office buildings, it was an anachronism.
The owner had received offers over the years to sell what had become a prime piece of real estate, but, to the relief of his loyal patrons, he'd always refused.
Wooden tables sported oil cloths and plain dishes and cutlery. The only outstanding feature of the place was the food. Hot an
d plenty, it was devoid of fancy sauces with fancy names. He wondered what Eve would think of it.
Daniel ordered the chicken-fried steak. After studying the menu, Eve chose the Yankee pot roast. He watched as she glanced around the room. He felt a flash of satisfaction that he'd managed to surprise her. Her expression told him she'd expected him to take her to a slick, trendy place that was long on ambience and short on good food.
Surprising her hadn't been his intent on bringing her here. He'd suffered through too many rubber chicken dinners at political fund-raisers to choose a restaurant for anything other than the quality of its food. But if he'd succeeded in throwing Eve a curve, so much the better. The lady was entirely too smug with her opinions about politicians in general and him in particular. He planned to change her mind. At least about one senator.
He reached across the table to take her hand in his.
"You were surprised when I said I'd come tonight." The self-satisfied tone had his grin come out from where it had been hiding.
"No."
The chagrin on her face drew a chuckle from him, which he hastily turned into a cough.
"Why not?"
"Because I knew you couldn't resist a dare."
She smiled faintly, apparently recovered from her bout of pique that she'd failed to surprise him. "A dare. Why, Senator, I thought you relied on your charm."
"Even senators have their limitations."
"So why did you agree to come?"
Her laugh was rich and full of the fun she poked at herself. "I can't resist a dare."
He turned her hand over, studying the fragile lines of it, the long, clever fingers, nicked and scratched from her work, he guessed. "Any other reason you said yes?"
Gently, she disengaged her hand. "A woman's got to eat."
Remembering the amount of food she'd put away at the auction, he wondered if that were her primary reason for coming. "Please," he said, clutching his chest dramatically and earning a smile from her. "Don't bolster my ego. I don't think I could stand any more flattery."
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