by Joanne Rock
She sounded so hopeful Remy hated to say no. She’d been asking that a lot lately. Why did his work travel suddenly interest her? She’d resented it mightily when he had stayed home for over a year after Liv’s death, needing to keep tabs on their daughter. Going back to work hadn’t been easy.
“Not this time, Sarah. And I thought you had a big field trip with some kids from school this week?” He wasn’t home as much as he’d like to be, but he tried to pay attention to her school activities.
“Right. Whatever. Dad, I’m tired of being at the Stedders all the time. I could help you—”
“Tomorrow, okay?” He didn’t want to get into a disagreement now, not after how worried he’d been. He just needed his life to feel normal again tonight.
“Tomorrow? While I’m on an overnight field trip?”
“When you get home.” He wished he could get on a flight home. Now. “I promise.”
Disconnecting the call, he hoped Sarah understood. She’d been through so much.
He’d love to surprise her and show up in Miami by the time she was back from the field trip. Except he hadn’t scouted jack squat for locations unless Erin Finley could be talked into a spot.
The nail-gun-wielding store proprietor would be a great guest. Everything about the store was perfect, too, except he didn’t see many antiques besides those used as decor.
He set the store’s phone on a shelf—a shelf that used a tarnished silver cake stand to display an assortment of brooches from cameos to cubic zirconia cartoon cats. The store seemed to be a hybrid consignment shop where used and new items rubbed elbows comfortably. On second glance, he realized the “shelf” was actually a repurposed plantation shutter.
He definitely wanted to discuss the show with Erin, but dripping wet on her floor at midnight didn’t seem like the best way to make a pitch.
“Thank you,” he called over to her.
“All done?” She finished driving a few more nails into a piece of trim around a window casing and then strode over.
“Yes. Guess I need to try and find a hotel.” He turned back toward the glass door and stared into the darkness. “Sounds as though it might be slowing down.”
“Wishful thinking. And you might have to head back to Franklin for a hotel. Heartache just has a bed-and-breakfast, but Tansy Whittaker might not answer the door at this hour if you don’t have a reservation.” Erin carefully switched the safety on her nail gun and set the tool on a peeling green apothecary cabinet. “She told me she runs a white-noise machine at night because it masks the sound of the most, er, enthusiastic newlyweds’ vacations.”
“Right.” He wondered vaguely if she was flirting with him. No. The risqué reference was just normal conversation. “That makes me all the more grateful you heard when I knocked.”
“I don’t like surprises anymore.” Her voice had an edge to it as she leaned down to reach for something alongside him, her sudden proximity bringing the scent of her perfume and freshly cut lumber. She had a tattoo of a bluebird at the top of her spine just below her hairline. “Here.”
He looked at what she had handed him. A plain black umbrella. His gaze moved to the wrought iron stand near the door where two other umbrellas remained.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to take yours—”
“You’re a tough man to help, you know that?” She rested a hand on one hip and surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “All of those umbrellas have been there for at least a year, so I assure you, no one will be back to claim it now.”
“Then...thank you.” He tucked it under his arm. He didn’t have trouble accepting help. Much. “I might try the local place first, but I appreciate the tip about Franklin. Would you have time to meet tomorrow? I actually might be in the market for some specialty antiques.”
He liked to play it safe when interviewing prospective guests for a show. That way, if something didn’t pan out or they didn’t have the right temperament for television, there were no hard feelings afterward. But damn...if he could firm things up with Erin’s place and two more dealers, he could justify the trip and head home.
“Sure. Stop by anytime. If you want to block out some uninterrupted time, though, we’ll have to meet after five. We close early tomorrow, but I’m the only one here until then.”
“Great. Five sounds good.” He had made business appointments hundreds of times in his line of work. But this one felt oddly personal. Partly because Erin didn’t know the real purpose of his visit and might assume he simply wanted an excuse to see her again. But maybe also because they were alone at midnight with the steady hum of rain drowning out the rest of the world.
“Until then, safe travels, Remy Weldon.” Erin stuck a hand out to save him from his stupid line of thinking.
Right. This was business and he was just overtired. He took her hand and shook it. A brief, warm contact that was there and then gone.
“Thanks for everything.” He really did owe her big-time. If there was any way that Interstate Antiquer could put her store on the map and improve her business, he planned to make that happen. He owed her that much for her kindness.
But as he turned to head out into the storm—a black umbrella now sheltering his head—he wasn’t thinking much about her business. Instead, he saw cornflower blue eyes and the wry smile of a sharp, self-possessed woman who didn’t play games.
It made him uneasy to think he wasn’t going to put her out of his mind anytime soon.
CHAPTER TWO
THE STORE WAS surprisingly busy the next day, keeping Erin on her toes all morning and well into the afternoon. She hardly had time to think about her visitor from the previous night, which was just as well since Remy Weldon had occupied far too much mental real estate the night before.
Just when she thought she’d beaten her libido into permanent submission, a compelling stranger had to enter her store with a cleft in his chin and a trace of a sexy Cajun accent. She told herself he was just a test of her new powers of restraint—a six-foot-plus hazel-eyed handsome man dropped into her path just so she could prove to herself she’d learned her lesson about attraction to men from out of town. But it unsettled her that a shared smile could make her pulse flutter.
“Miss?” a woman called from behind one of the dressing room curtains shortly before closing time. “Could I get your opinion on an outfit?”
Erin was only too glad to shove thoughts of Remy to the farthest reaches of her mind.
“Be right there.” She excused herself from another customer—a thrifty local who came in mostly to barter and browse—and hurried over to the middle of three curtained dressing areas. “Should I come in or do you want to step out?”
“If you could come in.” The curtain was swept partially aside and Erin noted the woman’s thin hands and worn nail polish.
A tiny size two at most, the customer had been in the store for about twenty minutes and had spent a long time searching through the clearance rack. Erin saw now that she had five items on hangers while a too-big dress slouched on her trim frame. From her worn shoes and scuffed bag, Erin guessed maybe she was an overworked mom looking for a bargain outfit to spruce up her wardrobe, but Erin tried not to make too many assumptions about clients. Sometimes the ones who dressed the most humbly or spent their money the most carefully were the secret millionaires.
“Would you like me to look for some smaller sizes?” Erin offered.
“There aren’t any.” The woman bit her lip. “Not on the clearance rack, anyway.”
Something about the dark worry in her eyes made Erin wonder what the dress was for.
“We’re having a dress sale, though. Thirty percent off—”
“It’s not enough to make anything else affordable.” She shook her head and turned to face herself in the mirror. She pinched a handful of fabric at her waist to pull the blue cotton jersey tighter to her body. “But I sew well enough. I can take this in.”
“Oh.” Erin tried to picture the simple shirtwaist dress with a few adjust
ments. “If you can do that and maybe trim the bodice a little—”
“Do you think it’s right for a job interview?” Worry lines creased her forehead.
“For what kind of job?” Erin tried to keep one ear tuned to the sales floor in case anyone else needed her help. At least she didn’t have to worry about theft since Heartache was a safe small town where the local police spent more time directing traffic at church functions than they did solving crimes.
“Finleys’—the home building supply store— advertised for a bookkeeper.”
Erin smiled. “That’s my brother’s store. It will be Scott or his wife, Bethany, who interviews you.” Her smile faded as she remembered why they probably needed a bookkeeper. Their marriage had been teetering on the verge of divorce this year. Bethany normally handled the books. “I think this will be a great dress for an interview, although if you have a jacket—”
“I don’t have a jacket.” The woman’s voice was tight as she shook her head, a limp strand of pale blond hair sliding loose from the tight ponytail. “I can’t afford more than the dress. This is a lot to spend on a job I might not get.”
“You definitely don’t need a jacket,” Erin blurted, sensing she’d touched a nerve. “I think you could style this a lot of ways—”
Her customer slumped onto the small wooden stool in one corner of the dressing room. “I don’t even have shoes to go with this. Or a bag.” She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I didn’t mean to have a meltdown in your nice store.”
“It’s okay.” Erin’s heart went out to the woman, whatever her story. Erin had been blessed. She had never had those kinds of financial worries, and she hated to think she had neighbors who fought battles like that. “Can I get you a tissue or—”
“No!” Her head lifted, and although there were tears on her cheeks, her eyes blazed with a fresh determination. “God, no. I am not crying over my rat bastard ex-boyfriend who took everything when he ditched his son and me to screw his home-wrecking whore of a secretary.”
She swiped her face fiercely to get rid of all trace of moisture while Erin reeled from her words. Even six months after finding out she’d accidentally cheated with a married father of two, the accusation of “home-wrecking whore” jabbed her chest as sharply as if it had been meant for her. Kind of like this woman had peeked into Erin’s personal ghost closet.
“I—” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sorry to live it.” She stood abruptly, brushing over the skirt of the dress with her hands. “And I didn’t mean to make myself at home in the dress when I haven’t even bought it. It’s lovely, but maybe I’d better think it over before I buy anything.”
Erin wanted to help the woman even more than she’d wanted to assist Remy Weldon the night before. She’d given Remy a helping hand out of common courtesy. But the need to give something back to this woman went deeper than that—a personal need to soothe over some of the guilt in her heart.
“The store is actually hosting a big Dress for Success event later this month,” Erin lied, unsure about the name, but remembering an article describing an organization that provided professional attire to disadvantaged women. She’d thought about doing something similar in the past but had gotten busy with renovations. “I’ve been collecting clothes for it for weeks.”
That wasn’t true, either. But personal pride could be a hard-won commodity, and she didn’t want to injure this woman’s by making it sound as if she wanted to give her a handout.
The woman tilted her chin at Erin, her thin arms folded tight. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s an event that gives women who’ve had a hard time the chance to choose a nice outfit for a job interview. You know, help them get ahead?” She tried to gauge the woman’s expression. “It’s exactly for women who have rat bastard exes in their past.”
“Is that so?” Pushing at the sleeves of the too-big dress, the blonde smiled. “It would definitely save me a lot of time if I didn’t have to take in an outfit. Do you think you’ll have any smaller sizes?”
“I’m positive we do.” Erin’s brain worked fast to calculate how long it would take her to pull off something like this and make it a success. “I planned to unveil the project later this month, but since I’ve already got inventory for it, why don’t you come back and take a look at it—when is your interview?”
“Monday.”
Erin would have to shuffle aside everything else in her schedule to research this. She had off-season inventory at home, and she could raid friends’ closets.
“Why don’t you come by Friday after the shop closes and you can take a peek at what I’ve got in the storeroom?” The toughest part would be coming up with enough shoes, bags and accessories to make it look as though she’d been collecting for a while. “Er, what size shoe are you?”
“Seven and a half.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Jamie Raybourn, by the way. This is really kind of you.”
“Erin Finley. And it’s no problem. You’ll do better at the interview if you feel happy about what you’re wearing, and the cool thing about this program is that women can come back for work clothes once they land a job.”
“Really?” Jamie’s one raised eyebrow suggested she was skeptical, and it made Erin sad to think the woman didn’t believe she’d ever get a break. She fiddled with the price tag on the dress she still wore.
“Yes. It’s a great program.” Or it would be when Erin got done with it. “I’d better get back to the front counter. But you’ll be here on Friday?”
Erin wanted to help. Needed to help. Even if she wasn’t desperate to somehow alleviate the guilt she felt about another mother with a bastard for a husband, Erin had been raised to be civic-minded and care for her community. Her father’s long stint as Heartache’s mayor had instilled that kind of community awareness in all the Finleys.
Jamie smiled and shrugged narrow shoulders out of the blue jersey dress. “I will. Thank you so much.”
Erin sidled out through the gap in the curtain on one side, careful not to flash her half-dressed customer. She worried a little about pulling off a small clothing drive in the next few days, let alone organizing the storage area enough to allow a client in there to browse some inventory. Expanding Last Chance Vintage meant a lot of furnishings and display items were tucked in storage to stay out of the way of drywall, sanding and painting projects.
Renovation work would have to wait a little longer because right now, Erin had a more important focus. Maybe helping Jamie—and other women like her—would put Erin on a more positive path to forgiving herself for being a blind idiot about Patrick.
And if not? At least she was doing something constructive with her time, unlike all the months she had wasted loving some guy who’d done nothing but lie to her.
Ducking behind the front counter, Erin grabbed her cell phone and sent out her first SOS text to start collecting clothes. If she acted fast, maybe she could coerce some friends into cleaning out their closets tonight and she could make the rounds in the morning to pick things up. Too bad her sister-in-law, Bethany, was one of the few “size two” women Erin knew. She couldn’t let Jamie walk into an interview with Bethany while wearing her sister-in-law’s former clothes.
Erin was just closing out the register and flipping the sign on the front door when Remy Weldon pulled up in a white sedan with out-of-state plates. Her hand paused on the Open sign, her attention thoroughly captured by the sight of him unfolding his long, lean frame from the vehicle.
He’d held plenty of appeal the night before with his dress shirt plastered to his chest and shoulders from the rain. Today, clean and pressed in a gray suit with a pale blue shirt open at the neck, he was a whole different kind of handsome. Something about the suit and the crisp shirt cuffs peeking out from the sleeves as he moved reminded her of Patrick and all the things she’d once admired about him. His sharp, professional appearance. His travel wardrobe
that could fold down into the smallest possible roll-away bag.
Remy lifted a hand in acknowledgment when he spotted her. Her heart rate jumped a little at his smile, a fact that irritated her more than she would have liked. Opening the door, she concentrated on the fact he was just a client like any other. And he’d be on his way back to Miami before she knew it.
“I hardly recognize you when you’re not sopping wet,” she called by way of greeting. As soon as she said it, she had a schoolgirl moment where she panicked the words could be construed as having a sexual undertone.
But no. Just because her thoughts had sexual undertones didn’t mean her words did.
“That’s a coincidence.” He paused a few steps away from her and seemed to take her measure, his hazel eyes doing a slow tour. “Because I hardly recognize you without the overalls and safety goggles.”
He wasn’t flirting. Probably just being amusing. But his attractiveness skewed the conversation in a weird way, and it didn’t help that she didn’t have the goggles and overalls to hide behind. Suddenly self-conscious, she turned and headed inside.
“Come on in,” she called over her shoulder, hoping she was behaving normally and not like a junior high school girl. “I have a table in the back where we can discuss what you’re looking for.”
She heard the shop bell ring behind him as the door shut, sealing them inside the empty store. Alone again, just like the night before.
“I appreciate you making time for me today.” Remy’s tone had shifted to all business as he followed her past the open pie safe full of vintage linens. He gripped a dark leather folder in one hand. Was he going to take notes? Or maybe he had pictures to show her the kinds of items he collected.
“Antiques are my business.” She switched off her phone since it was already buzzing with incoming texts, no doubt replies from her friends about the last-minute clothing drive. “I’m happy to help.”
She gestured to an old kitchen chair repurposed with a leather seat that was pulled up to a high workstation with drawers full of swatches, samples and assorted cabinetry hardware. Occasionally, she refinished furniture here or re-covered old lamp shades with new material.