The kiss was less than satisfying, but considering that Bret was now carrying Boo in piggyback mode down the sidewalk to the truck, the brevity of it was for the best.
She got out and rounded the truck. The small house had a small front porch, which was painted yellow with white trim. The white picket fence around the property added to the cozy charm. Red, yellow, and purple flowers filled the flowerbeds— their color perky like Meg. “Isn’t this the old Able house?”
Tom looked at the front of the house. “Yeah, it was. Meg’s had it for about three years.”
Boo squirmed out of Bret’s arms and ran to meet Tom giving him a big hug, then turning her exuberance and affection on Summer. “Hello, pretty lady.”
Flummoxed by the affection, she returned the hug. “Good morning, Boo. You know you can call me Summer.”
She looked up and gave her a toothless grin. “Okay.”
The men were both grinning like a baby had been christened. Summer would have said something to put that acceptance in its rightful place, but Boo pulled her down the sidewalk to the house.
Meg and Lindy met her at the front door. “Come on in. We’re having chocolate chip pancakes. Sorry. Girls get preference when they visit.” Boo streaked past her into the kitchen.
“Chocolate chip pancakes work for me.” Summer bent to Lindy’s eye level. “Hi, missy.”
Lindy giggled and hugged her. “Hi. Will you sit by me?”
“Sure.”
Lindy led her to the table and showed her where to sit. Chocolate chip pancakes were an understatement. There were hash browns, scrambled eggs, and bacon too, the aromas making Summer’s stomach growl. She ended up between Tom and Lindy, with Meg right across from her, grinning like a woman who knew too much. Tom didn’t help, by settling a hand on her leg under the table.
Summer pasted a cordial, bright smile on her face, but her mood shimmied around worse than bad disco. They were both adults and owed no one an explanation, and yet she couldn’t stop from feeling like she was letting Tom down in every way possible.
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Tom pushed back his chair. “We better get a look at the paintings and get going. We’ve got quite a few places to visit.”
He took his plate, Summer’s, and Lindy’s to the kitchen. Summer had plowed through breakfast like a woman who hadn’t eaten in days. He was almost sure doing so was to keep her mouth full so there was no risk of being questioned on their love life. He would laugh at that, but it would be mixed with a tad bit of hurt. What did it matter if people knew about them? He would be the one left here to deal with the fallout.
Bret followed him with his, Meg’s, and Boo’s. “How many places do you have to visit?”
He rinsed off his plates and reached out for Bret’s. “Mom’s office, my apartment, Clem’s to recheck, Marla Spooner for sure. Still trying to remember if there are others out there. Don’t exactly want to advertise the problem.”
Bret opened the dishwasher and took the dishes from Tom. “Adelina James has one, so does Mrs. Heigl.”
Boo and Lindy brought in the glasses and silverware and handed them to Tom, then rushed back to the dining room.
Tom rinsed them and then wiped off his hands. “How did Adelina get one without me knowing about it?” Adelina James had been Walter’s girlfriend of sorts at the nursing home.
“Don’t know. It’s one of Summer’s small ones. It’s on an easel in her china cupboard. Meg bought one of her tapestries, and we visited to pick it up. Meg saw it and talked to her about it.”
“And Mrs. Heigl?” She was a beloved high school English teacher, now retired. Seems everyone in Echo Falls had her for a teacher at some point in their life.
Bret loaded the last of the dishes and closed the dishwasher. “She was out for her daily walk and stopped by the house, and we got to talking about my paintings. She has one of the reservoir, too.”
“Looks like we have more places to stop than I thought.” He glanced into the dining room.
Bret followed his gaze. “Looks like you better get back in the dining room before Meg decides to start asking questions about that satisfied look on both your faces and then shares the answer at family dinner tomorrow evening.”
Tom groaned silently. He loved his family, but their tact when it came to love business was non- existent. “You could distract her.”
Bret’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “I’m up for that, but she’s a bulldog. She’ll still figure it out and lead the charge. Tara went through it, Robin went through it. And I did too. I won’t get in the way of family tradition.”
Pain lanced through Tom. “She’s not going to be here long enough to get the famous inquisition from the family.”
Bret raised a brow at that, but Tom changed the subject. He reached in his pocket for Summer’s house key and handed it to Bret. “You can get the fingerprinting done today?”
“Yeah, I’ll go over as soon as we drop the twins off at the farm.”
“Bart McAuley is coming to fix the back door window and change the locks today, too. Leave this key on the counter when you’re finished.”
Bret nodded and followed him back into the dining room. Tom ignored the look of relief on Summer’s face and ushered them all to the living room.
Meg diverted the girls in the hall. “Boo and Lindy, get your stuff together. As soon as we’re finished looking at Summer’s painting, we’re taking you both back to the farm. Your mom wanted you home before eleven.”
The two girls hugged them both, and Tom had a moment to pause when Boo lifted her brows in stage surprise and nodded approval. Then she whispered in his ear. “You didn’t even need the pumpkin magic.”
Oh boy.
She scooted down the hall after Lindy.
Summer went ahead of him, drawn to the paintings like a magnet to metal, and studied the technique carefully, before checking the mark on the back. “These are mine.”
Tom heard a sigh of relief from Bret.
“I did these my junior year in high school. Walter gave these to you, right?”
“Yeah, payment for helping Tom roof the house.”
Summer turned to look at the other work on the walls. “I’m flattered you thought it was worthy payment.”
“Who wouldn’t? They are gorgeous,” Meg said.
Summer blushed, fumbling for words. “Thank you.”
Tom moved to the doorway and fished his keys from his pocket. “We have to go. Summer will be back to put an authentication mark on the back.”
“Yes, as soon as I figure out what it’s going to be.” She joined him at the door.
Meg stepped forward and gave Summer a hug. “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t stay awhile and chat. Maybe you could come to family dinner tomorrow afternoon at Grandma’s.”
“Uh…we’ll see how many paintings we get to view today,” Tom hedged when Summer looked at him all panicky.
“Yes, and I’ve been leaving Jonathan to his own devices far too much,” Summer said.
Bret gave a snort. “Oh according to my sources, he’s become fast friends with Clem and the chief. He seems like he’s making his own way. In fact, you should bring him to dinner. He and Olivia would hit it off.”
Tom frowned and looked at Summer. She shrugged and mouthed at him, “He doesn’t tell me everything.”
“I’ll call you later and let you know how far we get.” It was all he could offer.
They rushed to the truck, waving goodbye to Bret and Meg who stood on the porch with their arms wrapped around each other.
“Why do I feel like we just dodged an embarrassing conversation?” Summer fastened her seatbelt and waited for him to pull out.
He sorted through a bunch of answers before shrugging it off. “My family. Gotta love them. I gave Bret your house key. He’s going by later to take fingerprints off the pictures. I forgot to tell you Bart’s coming today to fix the window Jonathan broke and to change the locks.”
“Fine.”
She wa
s worrying her lip with her teeth, more concerned with who knew than the joy of the moment. He should probably warn her about dinner. But he wasn’t going to. She was leaving. This free- falling feeling could be more, could be the love of his life—well, she didn’t share it. And that was damn depressing.
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Summer couldn’t help but feel fortunate that Helen Applegate wasn’t in her office when they arrived.
Her secretary, Sissy Murray, lamented their timing. “She wanted to talk to you about the art community we’re trying to establish. Maybe you could catch up with her tomorrow at the weekly family dinner.”
Tom gave the woman a non-committal answer, which Summer was glad for, and rushed her through the evaluation of the painting—another true Summer LeFey.
Back in the truck, she stayed silent and let Tom decide where to go next. Being back in Echo Falls was nostalgic and painful. When she’d been here before, she’d felt like a butterfly still in its cocoon. She learned, she grew, she understood herself and her art, but it wasn’t until she left and shed this place that her art metamorphosed into the depth and feeling it had now. Creativity block aside, she became artist Summer LeFey out in the world, not in this little slice of it.
Yet memories only added depth to emotion. Clem’s food, Bill’s garden, her grandmother’s grave and sewing room, the Echo Falls Mustang bleachers where Drew Jensen kissed her in ninth grade, Sal’s Grocery. She and her grandfather had a screaming match in his parking lot. Walter had gotten her a job as a bagger and she’d wanted—no needed—to paint and refused to take it.
“You okay?”
Tom’s voice was a welcome intrusion. She let herself look at him, from the sculpted face, the muscular form, the strength of his hands. “Lost in memories. Some good, some not so good.”
“Which am I going to be?”
She’d never heard him sound so tentative before. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “An amazing memory. One of those you pull out at eighty and remember with all the clarity of the original moment,” she said softly.
She’d thought that would make him happy. At the very least, she expected he’d shrug off their affair, move on like other guys did. She didn’t expect that to bother her, to wonder when the time came, if she was really going to be able to walk away from someone who could be as important to her future as her art.
He frowned at her answer and turned back to his driving, leaving her drowning in her past and questioning her future for the first time in her life.
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They moved on to Marla Spooner’s realty office and ended up taking a drive to her house on the reservoir to get a look at the painting. Her office staff said she’d be happy to have company in her showcase home and thrilled to have Summer sign the work. She’d doodled with a few ideas on a piece of paper from her purse. She had a good idea what she was going to do for the authentication mark. Seeing it take form under hand was a thrill, especially with Tom showing an interest.
Marla Spooner’s home was on the far side of the lake, midway to the spillway from the reservoir. The two-story home was gray brick with high windows that took advantage of the view.
The vivacious redhead met them at the door in a deep blue caftan and commenced talking. She led them to the painting on the wall in her study. “Here it is. Mr. Snidely said you painted this your junior year.”
“Yes, I did.” She studied the painting—one of Hap’s pumpkin farm at sunset. This was definitely hers. Mr. Snidely, her high school art teacher, had dogged her, pushing her to explore her color palette more. She’d stuck to the orange shades, muted greens and browns, and was never sorry.
“Chad would love this one.”
Tom had been non-conversational while they’d driven here, so to hear his voice made goose bumps quiver across her shoulders and down her back—the effect he had on her disconcerting and delightful.
“Why this one?” She peered at the predominance of oranges and greens and recognized one truth—she wouldn’t touch this one up or do this one over as she felt about so many of them. This one was perfect.
Tom eyed her. “I thought you knew. Chad bought Hap Bradley’s pumpkin farm about five years ago.”
Things fell into place. “Ah, Lindy’s pumpkin magic.”
“She talked to you about that?”
“Yeah. Offered to let me in on the secret so I could catch you.”
“That girl and her pumpkin magic,” he said with fond annoyance.
Marla laughed. “Well, it worked for Chad. Those little ones caught him for their mother.”
Tom gazed at Summer, making her burn. She’d give anything right now to be alone and not talking or looking at any more of her paintings.
She cleared her throat. “How did you acquire my painting? Did my grandfather give it to you?”
“No, actually I won it in a high school raffle. Your grandfather donated it for the drawing prize when they were trying to buy a new scoreboard for the gymnasium.”
Tom helped her lift the painting from the wall, and she turned it over and drew the mark she’d practiced on the back in the lower right corner.
While that was ongoing, they heard every tidbit of gossip Marla knew. Summer was surprised how few of the names were familiar. She was stuck with pretty standard replies like, “oh really.”
Thankfully, Tom rescued her. “Thank you, Marla. We have to go now.” Tom put a hand at Summer’s elbow and led her to the door.
“Ya’ll come back some time when you can stay longer. The view over the lake from here is spectacular. Maybe you could paint it, Summer.”
“Maybe,” she said, all the while thinking she already had, from multiple viewpoints and it was a subject she wasn’t looking to revisit.
“See you at choir practice, Tom.”
“Sure, Marla.”
At the truck, Tom opened Summer’s door, helped her in, and then leaped to his side of the truck. He gave a quick wave to Marla, who hovered in the door like she’d jump down the sidewalk to tell them one more thing.
“Where to next?” Summer leaned her head back and shut her eyes, a headache pounding behind her eyes.
“We’re going to my place next. Not only do we need to get out of this heat, I want to take a shower and change. Do you mind? I know my paintings are authentic. I checked for the mark, but I want you to look anyway.”
Tom’s place. A shower. Her stomach plunged, then jittered like a lidded pot on the stove, shaking with the steam. “Sure, that’s fine.”
Was it? Tom had been aloof since she’d told him he was going to be an amazing memory. Why had that upset him? She had more of a reason to be upset. This town was working on her last nerve. Everywhere she turned held a reminder of why she’d loved this place enough to paint it and the conflicting feelings when she’d walked away. Sandpaper rubbed her heart, shredded her guts, and frankly she wanted to collapse in Tom’s apartment— shed her clothes and lose herself in some of that amazing sex.
Yet his description didn’t sound like that’s what he had in mind. She watched him drive. He handled the wheel with ease, driving neither too fast, nor too slow. He kept close tabs on the traffic and the surroundings, his gaze roaming constantly. It was inevitable then that he’d glanced at her and catch her staring.
“What?” He turned down a side street and slowed, passing stores and alleys.
One in particular made her freeze.
A stark memory stabbed her. She’s had a fight with Miranda Watson in that alley, about seventh grade. Some childish angst over the supposed theft of a book—Miranda accused her, judge and jury. Summer had defended herself against the younger, bigger girl who’d been too easy with the use of her fists.
Summer trembled in her seat, amazed at the power that memory held. She’d gotten her butt whopped until James Paultry, the then chief of police had broken it up and taken both girls home. Her grandfather hadn’t been sympathetic. Girls didn’t fight.
“You went somewhere. Want to tell me a
bout it?”
Tom touched her arm. She loved the warmth of his fingers, but it didn’t chase away the chill. One- handed, he turned into the parking lot for an apartment complex that hadn’t been here when she’d lived in Echo Falls. The newness was jarring against the ambience of the aged family homes in the neighborhood.
He was waiting for an answer, and she couldn’t give him one, couldn’t share that jagged memory, so she diverted him instead. “Do you ever turn it off?”
He gave her a blank look, moving his hand back to the wheel to park.
“You know, cop-mode?”
“Not really. It’s a twenty-four hour occupation.” She stared at him, for the first time really comprehending that she was involved with a cop. He lived with the possibility of being shot, which certainly put into perspective the scar on his shoulder. He put himself in harm’s way, performing a dangerous job to be sure, even in a small town. Yet she tumbled for this man, pulled him in, and now she wondered if when she left she wasn’t going to shatter both their hearts.
Because artist Summer LeFey belonged in San Francisco.
And Walter’s granddaughter had no idea where she belonged.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tom opened Summer’s door. The cool air escaped, leaving her lavender top sticking to her skin. He pointed to his apartment on the second floor. She trudged up the stairs behind him, the heat of the day sucking her energy like a black hole. At the top of the stairs, she glanced back to the parking lot and the homes across the street. Miranda Watson stood on the sidewalk, staring up at them. Summer’s breath seized, and for a moment, she tumbled between the past and the present.
“What is she doing here?”
Tom stopped to see who she was staring at. He frowned. “She doesn’t live near here, so maybe she’s visiting someone.”
Tom took her elbow and showed her inside, pausing a moment to survey the woman across the street. Summer struggled to shake off the spookiness of seeing her high school nemesis across the street, shoved away the high school years where she’d stalked her in this same way, and entered the apartment. She didn’t want those feelings in this moment with Tom.
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