A Patchwork Romance

by Jacobs, Ann

  In Blairsville, he bought a set of dishes and shopped for groceries. When he got home, he started cleaning up his cabin. It amazed him, how dust tended to collect on everything—walls, floors, even the furniture. Monday would come sooner if he kept himself busy doing something—anything—other than taking care of business.

  He took out the big, braided rugs, hung them from the limbs of a tree out front and beat them with a broom the way he remembered his mom doing so long ago. After bringing them back inside he dragged out the vacuum cleaner. Its low-pitched hum mingled with the swishing noise from the dishwasher and the drone of a gas generator outside, in a cacophony of noise that reminded him of the city he’d left behind.

  One by one, the sounds of civilization dropped away, except for the quiet hum of the generator Jared had put in so he’d never be without electricity. Funny, he’d never noticed before how intrusive that sound could be on the otherwise silent mountaintop. Its persistent humming rang in his ears but faded when he stepped outside onto the porch.

  There the hum blended into sounds of water rushing along the stream bed, tumbling down the mountain toward the river. An occasional bird squawked from high in the fragrant cedar trees outside.

  Memories of Althea’s soft voice echoed in his brain. Those memories fed a sensual image of lovers tangled in soft cotton sheets beneath a quilt made by her soft, talented hands.

  He figured Monday would be a long time coming.

  Chapter Two

  “This place. It’s—magnificent. Jim told me all about it, but he doesn’t have the same way with words that he has with his wood.” Althea looked first at the cabin before settling her gaze on the stream that passed under the porch, beneath her feet.

  “Different, isn’t it?”

  “I love everything about this place. The setting. The stream right outside your door. The house itself. Everything fits, as if the house was meant to be right here.”

  For the first time since he’d seen the finished product, Jared didn’t regret having left the design of the place to the Atlanta architect whose vision of a simple mountain hideaway hadn’t exactly meshed with his own. “I’m glad you like it,” he told Althea. “Come on in.”

  He stepped back to let her go first. She set her big quilted tote bag on one of the sofas and glanced at the blank walls and the empty mantel above a massive stone fireplace. “When did you move in?”

  “Last week. The place still looks pretty bare.” No barer than the Atlanta condo where he’d been living for the past ten years, he thought, although the lack of homey touches had never bothered him there. “Guess I’m not big on collecting things. Come this way. We’re going to eat in the kitchen.”

  He’d warmed ham and green beans from a Blairsville restaurant, fixed scalloped potatoes from a boxed mix and heated store-bought biscuits. Better unimaginative, he’d told himself when planning the menu, than disastrous. “Have a seat.” He held a chair for her before putting the food on the table.

  She ate some of everything. Since the food tasted good enough to him, Jared figured he’d done all right. As dinner partners went, Althea was on the quiet end of the spectrum, which he didn’t mind because it left him free to enjoy the faint, sweet smell of her cologne and watch the way she held her fork. He liked the way her tongue darted out of her mouth every now and then to capture an errant crumb.

  “Coffee?” He held the pot poised over her mug.

  She shook her head. “I’d never get to sleep if I drank coffee this late in the day.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. “Would you rather have iced tea or a soft drink?”

  “I’m fine. Shouldn’t we take a look at where you plan to put your quilt?”

  “My bedroom?” A picture of her there, in his bed, had his jeans suddenly feeling snug. “Come on upstairs. I’ll show you.” He set down the coffeepot and strode through the living room to the circular wrought-iron staircase in the entryway.

  She paused in the doorway to the master suite then took a tentative step inside. “Oh, my. Jim made that bed frame, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. I wanted that bed the minute I saw it.” The rugged-looking oak boards that held the king-size bedding, the heavy carved-oak headboard and soaring posters all lent strength and balance to the piece. It had caught his eye and drawn him into her brother’s woodworking shop outside Dahlonega last summer, soon after he’d purchased Big Bear Mountain from a developer who’d gone bust.

  “It’s perfect. When he made this bed, I never thought it would actually fit in somebody’s bedroom.”

  Jared laughed. “This room would hold a couple of them.” Jared didn’t know if he should feel complimented or embarrassed, but he leaned toward the embarrassed side. Mountain folk didn’t usually have the kind of money it took to build a place like his, and the few who did generally didn’t flaunt it. “I never realized until this place was almost finished that it was going to be so big. Guess I should have paid more attention to the architect and kept him from going berserk.”

  “Oh, no. I’ve never seen a place so—so at one with its surroundings. Jared, your quilt is going to look lovely on that bed.” She stepped over to the bed and smoothed the dark-green blanket, and then propped his pillows against the headboard before moving toward the huge plate-glass window that overlooked the porch.

  When she looked out at the breathtaking mountain vista, she sighed. “I could get used to seeing this every morning when I wake up.”

  Jared imagined he could easily become accustomed to seeing her here first thing in the morning, all sleepy-eyed and warm in his arms. No. He squashed that picture. He didn’t think that way. He never had. He’d never considered himself a particularly sensual man, had never been one to chase skirts. Marcie had called him a boring lover, and he guessed he might have been, at least with her.

  Damn it, he had to get out of here. He needed to quit encouraging his libido that hadn’t been this unruly in recent memory. “Do you need to measure, or anything?” He hoped to hell she didn’t.

  Her smile when she turned and met his gaze sent blood slamming south so fast he suddenly felt lightheaded. “No. The bed’s standard king-size, standard height. I made the quilt Jim displayed on it when it was at his shop.”

  “I remember. It had flowers on it.” Big red poppies and green leaves had stood out on the white background, reminding him of Christmas. Christmas hadn’t been a favorite holiday of his, since he couldn’t remember when.

  Althea’s smile took his mind off the quilt he’d declined to buy along with the bed. “I know. After Jim brought the quilt back to my shop, I sold it to a lady from Nashville.”

  Jared was glad Althea didn’t seem upset. “Shall we go downstairs? I could build a fire.” He didn’t trust himself to keep her up here much longer, but then he didn’t want her to leave, either.

  When they got downstairs, she moved toward the door instead of the living room. “I really have to be going.”

  “Humor me. You still haven’t told me what’s going on around here, what somebody who’s been away for more than twenty years might like to see.”

  Her hand on the doorknob, she smiled up at him. “There are all sorts of events we locals put on to part you city slickers from your cash. Everything from helicopter rides to tubing down the rivers. Speaking of tubing, there’s the Fourth of July Festival in Helen next week. It’s on the Chattahoochee River. Great rapids for tubing. There will be German and Bavarian foods, and a big craft show. I never miss that if I can help it.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” He thought he’d enjoy the festival—especially if she was with him.

  For a minute he thought she might say no. Then she looked over at him and smiled. “Not at all. I’d like that. Really, though, I need to go now.”

  He watched the lights of her Pathfinder until they disappeared around the first curve in the mountain road. When Jared went inside again, he felt Althea’s presence as if she were still there.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  It was almos
t as if Jared were with her. Althea felt his presence the next morning at her shop as she laid out stacks of the triangles and rectangles she’d just cut out for his quilt. Looking at a subdued print of blueberries and their leaves against a cream background, she recalled how she’d had to coax him to pick these lighter prints that would make up half of each Flying Geese block.

  Jared was darkness, not light. The forest green solid fabric and the navy and dark-green geometric designs had been easy for him to choose from the dozens of fabric bolts she’d suggested after he’d selected the basic colors. Althea stacked dark pieces next to the light ones and sketched the combinations to be pieced. Methodically, she noted how many blocks there should be of each variation.

  She sighed. Flying Geese wasn’t particularly complex as quilting patterns went, but it had to be pieced just right. Good thing Trina Wells had time on her hands now, before the blackberries started getting ripe.

  Speaking of Trina, there she was, outside. The distinctive wheeze of her old pickup truck was as good as an announcement. “Hey, Trina,” she called out when she heard the door open.

  “Morning. Is that coffee I smell?”

  Althea motioned toward the pot on a little table in the corner. “Have some. I made it fresh, just for you.”

  “Thanks. A good thing it was, you calling me now. In a couple more weeks I’ll be up to my elbows in blackberry jelly.” Trina filled a mug with coffee then dumped in a generous helping of sugar. “So, this is going to be a king-size bedspread?”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman who’s buying it must have more money than sense.”

  “It’s for a man. Jared Cain. Did you know him when he lived here before?”

  Trina raised herself up to her full height, almost six feet. All angles and jutting bones, her body seemed at odds with her round face, bright blue eyes and full lips that curved upward in a cherubic smile.

  “My ma recalls his folks. Said his pa was a good-looking devil, good for nothing like so many men that are easy on the eyes. Jared’s a lot younger than me but older than my kids. I guess he must’ve been starting school about the time I was quitting. What’s he like?”

  “Dark-haired. Tall and lean. He’s mighty easy on the eyes, so I guess he must take after his pa.” Althea paused then handed Trina a sample quilt square. “You wouldn’t forget him if you two ever met. Come on, this quilt of his isn’t likely to piece itself.”

  Trina sat in front of an old-fashioned sewing machine and adjusted her chair. After draining her mug, she set it aside and studied the sample block Althea had made. “Looks like a Log Cabin, but it ain’t.”

  “No. The pattern is called Flying Geese in the Cabin. While you piece, I’m going to finish this.” Althea sat at the quilting frame and picked up a threaded needle. “If I don’t get busy, Jim and Mary’s baby will be here before his quilt’s finished.”

  The low whir of the sewing machine penetrated the silence, filled Althea’s mind as she made tiny stitches around the last of the teddy bear appliqués.

  “Time for a break.” Althea stood and rubbed her sore back after they’d worked in companionable silence for several hours. If she didn’t insist, she knew Trina would keep plugging away at that sewing machine until she dropped.

  “Can’t say I’d mind another cup of coffee.” The older woman shook herself, as if the motion would work the kinks out of all those bones and joints. “You want some of my jelly to sell in here this year?”

  “Absolutely.” Trina and her husband Joe lived on the side of a mountain not far from Lake Winfield Scott, where blackberry thickets abounded. Althea wasn’t sure how many years Trina and her kids had been braving the thorny brambles, picking berries and making jelly every summer. They’d been doing it as long as Althea could remember. Trina wouldn’t say how much profit they made, but she often mentioned how fiercely she guarded her blackberry money, keeping it in her kitchen in a big ironstone butter churn.

  Althea had no doubt that stash had been depleted from time to time over the years, when Joe got laid off at the mine or when one of her kids needed something that wasn’t in the budget. This year, most of the money Trina would get for piecing this quilt would undoubtedly go to keep Little Joe, her youngest, in a nearby divinity college. Like most of the women around here, Trina worked hard but got very little personal gain from her labor. Unlike some, she seemed happy enough with her lot.

  “How’s the plan coming for your co-op?” Trina settled back in front of the sewing machine, another mug of coffee in her hand.

  Althea shrugged. “Slowly. The idea kind of lost momentum when Bill died. He’d been pushing for help from local businessmen to buy land and build or fix up a place for us to get started with it. Bankers don’t seem anxious to listen now that it’s me doing the asking.”

  “Bill was a real good boy. Shame it was he had to die, especially for nothing more important than trying to arrest the likes of Buck Dillard and his kin for making a fresh batch of white lightning.”

  A little over a year had passed since Althea had held Bill’s hand at the hospital while he lost his fight to live. She still hurt when she thought of him and the plans they’d made. It didn’t seem fair that their dreams had gone up in smoke one day the sheriff had sent Bill and two other deputies to help the federal treasury men close down that still on Dillard Creek.

  She felt a tear working its way down her cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away. She was alive. Bill wouldn’t have wanted her to bury herself with him. He’d been one of the good ones, doomed to die way too young.

  The sound of Trina’s voice drew Althea from her painful memories. “What did you say?”

  “You gotta get on with living, girl. Find yourself a new man. Kick up your heels. Lordy, you’re still a young thing, too young to dry up and blow away with grieving.”

  Althea knew her friend meant well. “I’m not drying up and blowing away, as you put it. I’ve got the shop and my teaching job. And I’m not about to give up on the co-op. It will just take me longer to get the backing, now that Bill is gone.”

  “That’s all well and good, sugar, but none of those things will keep you warm on a winter night.” Trina set her cup down and turned back to her piecing.

  Althea’s gaze settled on the growing stack of quilt blocks by the machine. Trina was right. Neither the shop, her students or the co-op would keep her warm. She recalled how Jared had turned her warm and liquid with no more than a heated look, imagined he’d become a furnace if they were ever alone together in a bed, winter or summer. There was something about him…

  “You know I’m right. If you don’t quit grieving and find yourself a new man, you’ll dry up and blow away. Ain’t right, a nice woman like you goin’ through life all alone.”

  “Jared is taking me to the festival in Helen.” The words came out before Althea could bite them back.

  “Oh, my, it sounds like you’re sweet on him. Tell me it’s so.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re sweet on Jared Cain. The poor boy turned rich city slicker. The one who bought Big Bear Mountain and built himself a fancy place. Ordered up this here quilt from you. You look at the blocks I just sewed up as if they were the man himself, stripped naked and served up on a platter like a Christmas turkey.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. You may not realize it, but you’ve got the look. The look a woman gets when she wants a man.”

  Althea felt her cheeks getting hot. “I hardly know Jared,” she protested.

  “Don’t take a lot of knowing, honey. It just takes wanting. I remember me, first time I laid eyes on Joe. I knew I wanted him right then and there. Of course, I held onto myself ‘til I could drag him to the preacher. I might never have caught him otherwise.” Trina laughed, then drained her mug. “You sure do make good coffee.”

  “Thanks. But I am not lusting after Jared Cain. I’m making him a quilt, that’s all.” But Althea wondered if that were true. After all, she’d gone to his pl
ace, and she’d jumped at the chance to go with him to the festival in Helen. He certainly made her think about sex as she hadn’t done since Bill had died.

  “If you say so.” Trina turned back to her piecing and picked up another tiny triangle.

  Later, after Trina had gone, Althea sat in the shop long after she should have closed up and gone home. Thoughts tumbled through her mind, about Bill, the boy she’d loved since seventh grade…and about Jared Cain, the man who had captured her fantasies from the moment he’d walked into her store and asked her to make him a quilt.

  Chapter Three

  Jared remembered being by himself in the mountains years ago, but not feeling isolated—totally alone. He felt that way tonight. A gentle creak of wood on wood punctuated each backward motion of his rocker against the wide planks that made up the porch.

  Stars twinkled in a sky that seemed to envelop him in darkness. How many millions of them were up there, he wouldn’t even venture a guess. Their numbers humbled him, made him realize what a tiny part he played in the world as a whole.

  A night bird chirped from down the road. The cheery sound made Jared smile. He sipped his beer as he pictured Althea. In her shop…in his bedroom…in her beat-up Pathfinder last night as she got ready to trek down the mountain to the cabin she lived in behind her quilt shop.

  He figured he’d lost his mind. This mountain was his refuge from Atlanta, but it was no longer his world. He tried to tell himself Althea Simmons wasn’t the type of woman who attracted him, the kind he usually lusted after. Hell, he didn’t lust after any woman. Until today he hadn’t truly wanted any particular woman for longer than he could recall.

  Why was it that he was thinking about Althea and sex? She should have been too young and too country, too ordinary to interest him. He’d hardly been able to dredge up enough passion for beautiful, fashionable Marcie to have sex with her the last six months or so they lived together.