by Irene Hannon
“Yes. Very nice.”
“It was my pleasure.” Cindy smiled at the older woman. “After all, I did spend the night in your house. And I was very impressed by your paintings. You have a real gift.”
A flush rose on Barbara’s cheeks. “I did win a ribbon or two in my day, but that was long ago. I haven’t painted at all since Stan died.” Her heightened color faded and she plucked at the edge of the blanket.
Cindy’s throat tightened, and on impulse she leaned forward and covered Barbara’s hand with her own. “I know how bleak things can seem when you lose someone you love.”
The older woman nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you do. Scott told me you were a widow, too.”
“That’s right. There are still days I’m surprised when I walk into the kitchen in the morning and he’s not sitting there with the paper, eating his bagel with strawberry cream cheese.” Moisture gathered in her eyes, and Cindy blinked to clear her vision.
“I know what you mean, my dear. I’ve had the very same experience. True love never dies. On the other hand, the heart has an infinite capacity to love.” She cast a meaningful look from Cindy to her grandson. “But I didn’t ask you here today to dwell on sad things. Scott’s told me about your job and the display you have to create. He thinks the trunks in my attic might be of help to you.”
“Yes. From what he’s said, it sounds as if I could build a whole theme around the material he found. I’d love to take a look at it.”
“Then by all means I think you should. As soon as possible. Scott—” she transferred her attention to her grandson “—why don’t you take Cindy and Jarrod to the house right now and let her check it out?”
“Now?” Scott did a double take.
“Why not? Your deadline is approaching, isn’t it?” Barbara directed her question to Cindy.
“Yes, but...” Cindy didn’t want Scott to feel railroaded into spending what remained of his Sunday in a dusty attic. “Scott probably has other plans for the rest of the day.” She addressed her next comment to him. “If you wouldn’t mind leaving a key somewhere, I could run over in the morning and have a look after you go to work.”
“Nonsense. That attic is a rattrap. I wouldn’t want you traipsing around up there alone. And if there’s any moving or heavy lifting to be done, Scott’s your man. He’s got plenty of muscles.”
True. Even in a dress shirt there was no disguising his broad chest and well-developed biceps.
“Does that mean I could play with Toby?” Jarrod joined the conversation.
“Of course you could.” Barbara jumped in before Scott or Cindy had a chance to respond.
“Cool. Can we go, Mom? Please?”
No way did Cindy intend to further impose on Scott. But as she opened her mouth to decline, he spoke.
“As long as you’re this close, it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look.”
“Oh, boy! Let’s go now!” Jarrod was already halfway to the door.
“Yes, you all go on your way. And Cindy, if you still want to show my paintings to that gallery-owner friend of yours, go ahead and take some digital pictures of them while you’re there. I’d be curious to see what she has to say.”
“Sold.” Scott circled around to the other side of the bed and gave Barbara a kiss on the forehead, but his gaze met Cindy’s as he bent.
I warned you. Just go with the flow.
At least that was the message she thought he was sending.
“I guess we’re going to your house.” She rose as she addressed the older woman.
“A fine end to a Sunday. And if you find anything interesting in those old trunks or have any questions, let me know. I remember a few bits and pieces about Elijah and Emma. It will be fun to revisit their story. Scott, if these two have spent the day hiking, give them some dinner. They must be hungry.”
“Oh, no, we’re fine.” Cindy shot Scott an apologetic glance. “We always take granola bars with us. We can eat when we get home or grab a bite along the way.”
“Don’t be silly.” Barbara dismissed the comment with a flip of her hand. “Scott hasn’t had dinner yet either. No sense him eating alone. He does enough of that as it is.”
“I am pretty hungry, Mom.” Jarrod shot her a hopeful look.
“There, you see? Scott, why don’t you get a take-and-bake pizza at Big Louie’s and put it in the oven while you show Cindy the trunks and Jarrod entertains Toby?”
“We’d better leave or she’ll be planning our dessert for us, too.” Scott rolled his eyes at Cindy as he picked up her chair to return it to its usual spot.
“Too bad there isn’t any of my carrot cake in the freezer.”
“Now that would be a treat.” Scott set the chair down and turned to Cindy. “She makes a killer carrot cake. I was just thinking about it yesterday.” He moved to the foot of the bed and addressed his grandmother. “You know, if you’d concentrate on your physical therapy, you could come home and bake me one.”
The spark in her eyes dimmed. “My carrot-cake-baking days are over.” She took Cindy’s hand. “It was lovely meeting you, my dear. Let me know what you find in the trunks and what your friend says about my paintings.”
“I will. Thank you for sharing your family history with me.”
“It was my husband’s family. But as I recall from the old stories Stan’s aunt used to tell, Elijah and Emma had quite a romance that began a bit later in life. That gives me hope.” She cast a deliberate look at her grandson.
“Ready, Cindy?” Scott inclined his head toward the door.
“Yes.”
Barbara lifted a hand in farewell to Jarrod. “Goodbye, young man. You give Toby a pat for me. And come back and see me sometime.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me play with him.”
Jarrod exited, and Cindy followed him out. Scott joined them a few moments later, closing the door halfway behind him.
As Jarrod bounded ahead, Scott fell into step beside her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m sure her intentions are good.”
“What’s the old saying about a road that’s paved with those?”
Was he suggesting romance in general was akin to fire and brimstone? Or just a romance with her? Was there an unhappy relationship—or marriage—in his past? Was he divorced? Had he written off romance? If so, why?
None of those questions should matter to her.
But as they parted in the parking lot to go to their respective cars, Cindy had to admit they did.
Chapter Seven
To his surprise, despite the stop he made at Big Louie’s, Scott beat Cindy and Jarrod to Gram’s house.
He slid the pizzas onto the counter and surveyed the kitchen. He hadn’t planned on visitors when he’d left for church this morning, and his half-filled coffee mug on the table, along with a crumb-littered plate and a jam-covered knife, attested to the fact he’d been running late.
If he was lucky, he’d have time to clean up and change clothes before they arrived.
Less than five minutes later, as he was pulling a T-shirt over his head, the doorbell chimed. After grabbing his socks and shoes, he padded barefoot down the hall.
Cindy gave him a once-over as he pulled the door open, her gaze lingering on his bare feet.
“I was wondering if you got lost.” He stepped back and motioned them inside. “Come on in.”
She cleared her throat and waved a bag at him as she and Jarrod entered. “We stopped to pick up dessert. I’m sure it’s no competition for your grandmother’s carrot cake, but I wanted to contribute something to the meal. Especially since you were coerced into inviting us. Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem.” He shut the door and led them to the kitchen. “Gram’s right about eating alone. I do it too often. Jarrod, why don’t you check on Toby while I show your mom the stuff in the attic? He knows I’m home because he’s been scratching on the door, but he’ll be much happier to see you. There’s a ball somewhere in the yard he likes
to play with.”
“Yeah. I found it the last time.” The boy took off for the door at a trot.
A few seconds after he exited, a muffled bark and a whoop of laughter floated back inside.
Scott sat on a kitchen chair and grinned at Cindy, who was keeping her distance, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket.
“Give me a sec to put on my shoes. I went straight from church to visit Gram, and the attic isn’t the place for nicer clothes. Not that you don’t look nice, of course.”
In truth, she looked fabulous. Her slender jeans flattered her trim figure, and the soft knit T-shirt under her jacket highlighted her curves. He knew because she’d slipped out of the jacket at Gram’s. However, she’d left it zipped up here. All the way to her neck.
Had Gram’s broad hints made her more uncomfortable than she’d let on at Seaside Gardens?
“Thanks.” She dipped her chin and fiddled with the zipper. “But these are just old hiking clothes. I don’t care if I get them dirty.”
He tied his second shoelace and stood. “I hope you don’t have a dust allergy.”
The hint of a smile twitched at her lips. “I’d be in trouble if I did, working at a history museum. We deal with a lot of old artifacts that haven’t been cleaned in years.”
“Okay. Then let’s take a look.”
A few minutes later, under the small circle of light provided by the single, low-watt bulb hanging in the attic, Cindy dropped to her knees on the makeshift planks of wood that served as flooring and leaned close to touch the captain’s chest.
“Wow. Look at that dovetailing. Plus the original rope handles with Turk’s-head capitals. It’s even got an angled front, which is rare.”
Excitement over the find had chased away her nervousness, and his own tension dissipated. “You really know your stuff.”
She shrugged, still focused on the chest. “There was a lot of sea trade along the coast years ago. And before rail service began in 1914 the only way to get to San Francisco from here was by boat. Since I joined the historical society I’ve been reading up on area history, and the sea played a large role. But as far as I know, we’ve never focused an exhibit on the Cutter Service.”
“Ready to look inside?”
“Absolutely.”
Scott turned the key and lifted the lid.
“Oh, my.” Her words were hushed. Reverent. “May I touch things?”
“I did. Help yourself.”
Gently she traced the outline of the carved heart inside the lid, then stroked the coat and lifted the corner to examine the items beneath it before checking out the nautical objects on the other side.
“Logbook, personal journal, letters...” She turned to him, and despite the dim light he could see the sparkle in her eyes. “This is an amazing cache. There might be enough here to build the whole exhibit around, focusing on the Cutter Service but personalizing it by telling the story through the eyes of your great-great-grandfather.”
“And don’t forget Emma.” Scott shifted around and lifted the lid of the dome-shaped trunk.
“Wow again.” She leaned past him to get a better look at the old-fashioned wedding gown.
Even the stale air in the attic couldn’t mask the fresh, floral scent that wafted toward him as her arm brushed his chest, and he found himself bending closer to her soft blond hair for a better whiff.
“Emma’s, I assume?”
It took a moment for her question to register—and a few more for him to form a coherent response. “That would be my guess.” His reply came out husky, and he swallowed as he straightened up. Get a grip, Walsh. “I didn’t want to poke around too much in that one. I was afraid the dress might disintegrate.”
“That’s possible. All of this needs very careful handling.” She sat back on her heels. “Until I can go through the contents, I won’t know for certain if there’s enough here to carry a display, but I’d guess there is. Can we move these trunks out of the attic?”
“You and I can’t. They’re too heavy. But I can get my neighbor to help me. Where would you like them?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “We could take them to the historical society for processing. Or I could do an initial pass here to verify it’s the treasure trove I think it is. That might be better. I’d hate to go to the trouble of hauling them across town only to discover I don’t have what I think I have.”
“Unlike Gram, I don’t use the dining room. Would that work?”
“Perfect. I can bring over some archival supplies from the office tomorrow.”
“Why don’t I give you the spare key? You can come and go as you please while you sort through everything.”
She hesitated, playing with the zipper pull on her jacket. “I don’t want to intrude on your home.”
“It’s Gram’s home. I only moved back in to save money on rent and for security reasons. An occupied house is less appealing to burglars. And I guarantee Gram will approve of the idea. She liked you.” He closed the lid of the dome-topped trunk.
She did the same with Elijah’s. “I wouldn’t want to mislead her about...us.” Based on the sudden uncertainty in her voice, her excitement had morphed back to nervousness.
So Gram’s matchmaking had, indeed, unsettled her more than she’d let on earlier.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been up-front with her from the beginning. She knows there’s no romance involved.”
Why not?
He saw the question in the glance she tossed at him, and he stared back at her as she averted her head to hide the surge of color on her cheeks.
How about that?
He’d meant to reassure her with the statement. Up until now, despite the chemistry zinging between them, he’d gotten her clear keep-your-distance message. And it had dovetailed nicely with his vow to avoid women with young children.
Now this.
Did she realize she was communicating longing...invitation...loneliness...with her eyes?
She brushed her fingers through the dust on top of the lid. “I guess we’d better put that pizza in. Those Hershey’s Kisses aren’t going to hold Jarrod much longer.”
Though she seemed to be trying for a casual, conversational tone, the slight quaver in the last word gave her away.
He took a deep breath, fighting a sudden urge to take her in his arms. Hold her close. Stroke her hair.
Kiss her.
Not smart, Walsh.
Gritting his teeth, he kept his hands occupied by pressing his fingers to the floor to steady himself.
When he didn’t respond, she twisted toward the collapsible stairway and started to rise to a crouched position in the low-ceilinged attic. But in her haste to escape she caught the toe of her sport shoe on the edge of one of the rough flooring planks and tottered.
Instinctively, Scott swiveled toward her and caught her upper arms, stabilizing her. She dropped back to her knees, facing him.
Mere inches away.
He got lost in her deep blue irises as he inhaled her appealing scent. Traced the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Felt her quivering beneath his fingers.
Somewhere, deep in the left side of his brain, logic was shouting at him that a dusty attic wasn’t a romantic setting. That he was making a mistake. That he needed to back off.
Yet he couldn’t curb the impulse to lift his hand and touch the gossamer softness of the hair framing her face.
Cindy drew in a sharp breath—but she didn’t move.
Pull back! Now! Before it’s too late!
The urgent command echoed in his mind.
He heard it. Knew he had to follow it. Otherwise, he’d put two more hearts at risk.
Summoning up every ounce of his discipline, he clenched his jaw and prepared to back away.
That’s when Cindy leaned into his hand.
The pressure of her cheek against his palm was subtle—and perhaps unconscious.
But it was an invitation nonetheless.
Then her eyelids d
rifted closed.
Scott’s lungs stopped working. Willpower only went so far. He wasn’t made of steel.
Giving up the fight, he leaned toward her. Close. Closer. A whisper away. His own eyes closed. One more second and...
“Hey, Mom! Where are you?”
Cindy gasped and jerked back.
“Mom?”
Color high, Cindy yanked her gaze from his and scrambled toward the opening in the floor. “Up here, h-honey. In the attic.” She twisted and swung her legs over to the ladder, descending as fast as she could.
And she didn’t look back.
But Scott’s pulse continued to gallop.
Man.
Sitting back on his heels, he ran a shaky hand through his hair.
What on earth had just happened? How could his resolve to keep his distance evaporate with one touch?
He didn’t like the answer that presented itself. But neither could he dispute it.
After a mere two weeks, he was attracted to Cindy—big-time. And the temptation to let things escalate, to test the waters, was escalating.
But what if he gave in to it only to have the electricity between them fizzle? Cindy would be hurt, and Jarrod had already suffered one loss that had turned his world upside down, sent his grades into a tailspin and necessitated counseling. What would a second loss do to him?
He couldn’t pursue Cindy. It was too risky—and selfish.
Plus, he didn’t need any more guilt in his life.
Suddenly weary, Scott pulled the chain on the light and crossed to the opening in the floor. As he started down the stairs, the murmur of conversation drifted from the kitchen, Cindy’s musical tones mingling with Jarrod’s high-pitched voice. A welcome sound in this quiet house. One he could get used to.
But despite Gram’s prodding, it was better all around to focus on friendship rather than romance with Cindy.
Even if his heart wanted more.