Rose

by Chris Keniston

  “According to my brothers I’m nothing more than a computer geek, but the official job description is software developer, and please call me Logan.” He cocked his head to one side. “I don’t remember giving my last name.”

  That made her laugh. “Small town, big family.”

  “Of course.” He smothered a low chuckle.

  The low throaty rumble sent a shiver skittering up her spine. Picking up a nearby tube of sunscreen, she used it as an excuse to brush away the reaction. “How are you adapting to our unplugged lifestyle?”

  “Slowly.” His gaze momentarily drifted over his shoulder toward his cabin. “I may have a slight case of high-speed internet withdrawal.”

  She held back a smile. If ordinary guests struggled to unplug from their phones and computers, she could only imagine how unnerved he might be feeling away from his technology. “Do you come from a small town?”

  “Not exactly. I grew up on a ranch outside of Dallas. Most days it felt like living in the middle of nowhere, but in reality the property line is only thirty minutes outside of sprawling suburbia. Still, we did most of our business in the smaller neighboring towns.”

  “Sounds a bit like me. Born and raised in Boston, but spent my summers up here. Rockwell might as well have been depicting life in Lawford. It’s hard to imagine that I could love living in two opposing ends of the spectrum so much, but I do.”

  “I know what you mean. Sitting at a keyboard in a cubicle in one of the fastest growing cities in the country is diametrically opposed to big skies and ranch life.” His gaze lingered on the water. Dark brown eyes with flecks of golden brown shimmered when he smiled.

  “Have you always been a fisherman?” she asked.

  Those golden flecks sparkled and danced as his cheeks lifted, flashing the perfect smile. “Ever since my grandfather put a fishing rod in my hand by the creek.”

  “And the tournaments?”

  “That took longer. My grandfather is military. Once he retired, I was the only grandson that actually enjoyed fishing and competition.”

  “When my grandfather got the idea to help Cindy raise money for the wildlife center with a fishing tournament, and then asked me to help with the fundraising end of this project, I thought one little tournament couldn’t be that hard. Then I looked up fishing tournaments and was blown away at the statistics. The sheer numbers of participants was mind boggling. Made me wonder what the big deal was. Should have realized it’s a testosterone thing.”

  “Not necessarily. I know some pretty good fishermen who aren’t men.”

  She bobbed her head. Wasn’t that the truth for every typically male dominated career.

  For the third or fourth time in the last hour of conversation, Logan checked his watch. This time he made a tsking sound and pushed to his feet. “I wish I could chat longer but I need to find the General about picking up my rental.”

  “Oh.” Of course. How could she have forgotten that part. Grabbing her book, she stood as well. “I can take you.”

  His glum expression slid away, followed by a lazy smile that threatened to give her goosebumps again. “If it’s not inconvenient.”

  She caught herself before laughing off the statement. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “There you are.” The General strolled up to them, two dogs at his sides. “Lunch is about to be served.”

  Lady and Sarge trotted up to Logan, sniffing his shoes, then lifting their heads to sniff at his knees, his pockets, over to his elbow and down his arms before licking his hands. Immediately getting down on his haunches, putting himself at eye level with the pups, Logan grinned and scratched behind their ears. The guy not only was proving he wasn’t a jerk, he was doing a good job of racking up the nice guy points.

  “Whole house smells like corned beef,” the General continued, “which means we’ll be having Katie’s soda bread. Don’t want to be late for that. Afterward, I’ll be happy to take you to get your car.”

  “We were just discussing his car,” Rose spoke up. How silly was it that the change of plans had left her rather disappointed. She was going to have to stop behaving like such a girl. Determined to avoid the man at any cost one minute and then disappointed at losing time with him the next.

  “Good. We can discuss it more over lunch.” It wasn’t exactly an order, but as grandchildren of military men, neither of them was about to argue with the retired Marine corps general.

  Less than half an hour later, the dining room was full with both family and friends.

  “I’ve heard so much lately about your grandfather. Was looking forward to meeting him.” Their neighbor Ralph stabbed at a boiled potato. “And, of course, beating his Annapolis as…er, butt, in cards.”

  “Really?” Logan looked up, curiosity in his gaze.

  The General cleared his throat. “I may have mentioned him a time or two since the reunion.”

  “Yes.” Logan cut into his corned beef. “He told me a whole bunch of you reconnected.”

  “I don’t know about a whole bunch,” the General mumbled.

  Logan hefted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Well, I know he’s extremely excited about seeing you in Florida this fall.”

  “Florida?” Rose’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Surely her grandparents weren’t planning on joining what northerners often teased to be Southern New York’s retirement population. Her heart did a nose dive to her stomach. What would Hart Land be without the General and Grams?

  “Yes.” Grams patted her granddaughter’s hand. “We had such a lovely time at the reunion. Since so many of your grandfather’s friends have retired there, we’re working out details for an informal smaller gathering in warmer weather this winter. I think it will be lovely.”

  Relief washed over her. One vacation in winter wouldn’t be so bad. Not that she got much opportunity to spend a whole lot of time at the lake, winter or any other time, but knowing her grandparents were here if she did was an enormous comfort. She didn’t want to even consider the time when they would no longer be around. Which brought a totally different thought to mind. This morning on the lake, even dealing with worms had been enjoyable. As had reading on the beach. There had to be some way to do her job and get away to be with family more often.

  “Everything okay?” Logan asked softly, leaning closer.

  Those blasted shivers struck, threatening goosebumps again, and she had no idea if she was anything close to okay.

  Chapter Five

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Grams pushed away from the table. “Martha called earlier and said she talked their mother into parting with their great-grandmother’s trunk. It might need a little cleaning up as it’s been gathering dust in the attic for decades, but Mabel also agreed you could have whatever you find inside that isn’t family specific, and Martha says you’d better go pick it up now before Mabel changes her mind.”

  “All right.” Rose turned to her grandfather. “Can I borrow the jeep?”

  “Sure, but you’re going to need some help loading. I’ll see if George has time to spare.”

  “I have time,” Logan spit out. “I mean, other than picking up my car and riding around the lake, my slate is clear.”

  “Maybe,” her grandmother leaned forward, “you should take advantage of Mr. Buchanan’s generosity with his time and do a round of donation pick-ups?”

  “Not a bad idea.” She nodded, running the list through her mind again. “But if that’s the case we might need to borrow George’s truck.”

  “Excellent plan,” her grandfather agreed, his eyes smiling.

  “I’d better take a minute to change.” She shoved her chair away from the table. Shorts and a t-shirt might work under a shade tree by the beach, but not if they wound up rummaging through anyone’s attic. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Hurrying up the stairs, she pushed away thoughts of what to wear that wouldn’t make her look like a country mouse and focus on her list of donors. They’d lucked out with some fantastic items but a
s she reached the top of the stairs her mind returned to circling around what would look businesslike, but casual, but flattering, but routine, and of course, flattering. In the end, she’d settled for layers of beige and tan from her shoes and slacks to her blouse and earrings. Not too severe, not too formal, and just enough casual to fit in with the lake or trudging through attics and storage rooms. And of course, the neutral shades were very flattering to her red hair. Not that it should matter. Pulling the binder out from between the matching bookends, she double-checked the section with donations and thanked the heavens once again for Sarah. On the top of the purple coded donation section, Sarah had left a detailed spreadsheet in list form. This would make keeping track of pickups easy for Rose. Well, easier.

  “There she is.” At the bottom of the stairs her grandfather looked up from chatting with Ralph and Logan.

  Was it her imagination or did Logan’s eyes light up at the sight of her? No. She had to be imagining things. Channeling all that concern over a flattering wardrobe. Still, what was it about this guy in particular that her regressing to thinking like a teenage girl?

  His gaze shifted to the small binder against her breast and his eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before a calm smile covered up his surprise. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” Falling into step beside him, she waved at her grandfather and his friend and began mentally tallying the order of donors and reflected on the spark of surprise in his eyes. If he thought reading Tolstoy was a big deal, she could only imagine his reaction if he saw the binder thrice as thick as this one for the upcoming show at the museum.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as he held the door for her.

  “We should start at the top of the list. That one is the furthest away and then we can double back through town until we run out of room in the truck.”

  “That much stuff?” Logan whistled, holding the car door this time. Nice guy and an old-school gentleman. The perfect combo.

  “Oh, yeah. We’ve had some very nice donations come in from all over the mountain, but the locals have been especially generous. This wildlife center for conservation, rehabilitation, and education is not only my cousin Cindy’s pet project,” she chuckled, “no pun intended, it means a great deal to anyone who loves this mountain.”

  His gaze shifted to the trees along the route as they turned out of Hart Land. “I can understand that. The ranch has a lot of flat, and not a lot of green, and limited wildlife, but the land has been in our family for generations. You can’t replace history, and it’s our responsibility to preserve the history, the land, and everything that lives on it.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I let my grandfather rope me into this whole thing.” She drove by the Pastry Stop and pointed. “By the way, that’s my cousin Lily’s bakery.”

  “Responsible for today’s dessert?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I might have to do a little window shopping while we’re here.”

  Rose smiled. “I gather you have a sweet tooth?”

  “You mean the two large helpings I had didn’t give it away?”

  “That may have been my first clue.” She laughed. “But pretty much everyone in this family has a sweet tooth thanks to Lily.”

  “If that chocolate cake was any indication, I can certainly understand why. Though I freely admit I may be addicted to those crescent almond cookies.”

  “You wouldn’t be the only one. I’m torn between the almonds and the spitzbuben. Not that I’d refuse anything Lily baked.” Coming up on the narrow dirt road that led to the first stop, she took a sharp turn and bounced up the hill.

  “I sure hope whatever we’re picking up isn’t breakable.”

  “Well, if the trunk hasn’t broken apart in the last century, I think it will make it to the Inn today.

  Five stops later, and a half full pickup bed, next on her list of donors was Edna from Buy the Book. Logan followed her into the quaint shop. All conversation stopped at first sight of what many considered hallowed walls. Stacks and stacks of books were displayed on solid wood shelves handcrafted at least 100 years ago. Edna had salvaged them when the original mountain library was torn down. In the back, protected in more handcrafted, glass fronted cabinets, classic first editions of well-loved books, including Gone With the Wind and To Kill a Mockingbird were available for sale.

  “Oh my.” His fingers gravitated towards the case, stopping short at touching the glass. “Never really got Gone With the Wind, but for the longest time To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my favorite books.”

  She didn’t know why that surprised her. After all, people in Texas did read. Didn’t they? Of course they did. One more plus for the nice, polite guy. “One of mine too.”

  “Here you go!” Edna came hurrying out from her office behind the counter. “This struck me as a good fit for the event.”

  Rose had to snap her mouth shut. She’d expected a series from some popular author. Or perhaps an autographed copy of a book by some well-known fishermen, if something like that even existed. But she hadn’t expected this. “Tom Sawyer.” She didn’t have to open the cover to know that Edna was donating a first edition of the famed Mark Twain novel. Fishing did have its place in the classic novel and something about a simpler way of a lifestyle long gone brought home the value of preserving the animal life and land around them. “On behalf of Cindy and the wildlife center, thank you.”

  Logan hadn’t said more than two words once Edna presented them with The Adventures of Tom Sawyer for the auction. Curiosity had her wondering what had suddenly made him so quiet. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  The Hart Land guest stood in front of the bookstore and looked up the street. “My grandfather, the one who’s friends with your grandfather, is my mom’s dad. She had a brother, my uncle Bill. He was killed in a friendly fire accident when I was in high school.”

  “I know it was a long time ago, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks. Uncle Bill was a fan of Mark Twain. When he’d come to visit, we would go down by the creek. Of course, in Texas it’s not much of a creek, but enough to keep this one weeping willow tree growing. My brothers and I would lean back against the big old trunk and Uncle Bill would help us drop a line into the creek. Not a fancy fishing rod, but a stick that we picked out ourselves and he’d help fashion into a fishing rod. Then we’d wait for a fish to bite and listen to him read from a Mark Twain book.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful memory.”

  He bobbed his head. “It was. By the time I was ten we’d graduated from a hand-hewn stick to a real fishing pole—not that we ever caught any fish in that little creek. My brothers had grown tired of Mark Twain, but Uncle Bill and I continued the tradition for three more years. We were no longer reading Mark Twain, but that didn’t matter.”

  “I know this sounds silly, but I think I really like your Uncle Bill.” And maybe his nephew too.

  * * * *

  Why a single copy of Tom Sawyer had made Logan so sentimental, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was that he hadn’t really thought of Uncle Bill for quite some time. Or maybe it’s because he hadn’t read Tom Sawyer since he was 11 years old. But he was glad to have relived those memories for even a few minutes. And even more pleased to have done so with the pretty redhead who would read Anna Karenina for pleasure.

  Still standing by the car in front of the quaint bookstore, his gaze drifted across the street. A few shops up, he noticed a sign for the village creamery. “Would I be in the money if I were to bet that the ice cream parlor across the street sells homemade ice cream?”

  “You would.” A broad grin took over her face to match the impish glint in her eyes. “Depending on how much money you wagered.”

  Everything about this woman made him want to grin like a fool and never stop. “Do we have time for a taste?”

  “Absolutely. Not only is it criminal to visit downtown Lawford without stopping at the village creamery, I think it’s very fitting for
the memory of your uncle and Tom Sawyer to indulge in a little afternoon refreshment.”

  He resisted the urge to snatch her hand in his and skip across the street like a couple of kids channeling Becky Thatcher and Tom Sawyer. “Do you have a favorite flavor?”

  “I suppose all of them is not the answer you’re looking for?”

  A woman after his own heart. He bit back a smile. “Works for me”

  Small wrought iron tables with two matching round back chairs assured the inside of the parlor to be everything he would have expected. The pastel colors dressing the walls and the pictures depicting a simpler time and place hanging prominently near the entry added to the brief journey back in time. The entire feeling matched everything he’d noticed today on Main Street, from the beauty parlor with the big old-fashioned hairdryers to the barbershop pole twirling on the sidewalk making sure any passerby knew this was the place to come in for a trim or a shave or just as important, friendly conversation. He had no doubt that the conversation would come with an old-fashioned shave with heated towels, warm lather, and maybe even a single edge blade. He might have to stop in and see for himself.

  “I lost you.” Rose waved at him. “Thinking of your uncle again?”

  His fingers mindlessly ran from his cheek down his jawline. “Actually, I was thinking about the barber shop.”

  “Floyd’s?”

  How had he not noticed the shop was named Floyd’s. “Really?”

  Rose chuckled loud enough for the sales clerk to look up from elbow deep in a creamy tub of butter pecan. “Yes, really. But it’s a long story.”

  “Now you have my curiosity aroused.”

  Smiling at the clerk in front of her, Rose tapped on the glass case. “Morning, Annabelle. That looks wonderful. I’ll have the butter pecan. Single scoop in a cone.”