by Lyn Cote
For one second she thought she might be ill. How could he do something like this? Outrage sizzled through her. She grappled with inner flames. I'd better let it be known right now exactly what will happen from now on if anyone else "cooperates" with my father like this. What if she needed repairs or something else in the future?
She gripped the receiver tighter. "I've changed my mind about the furniture," she said coolly. "Please send me back my check—"
"Ms. Turner—"
"I will expect my deposit to be returned this week—"
The man tried to interrupt again.
"Or you'll be hearing from my attorney." She hung up, her insides roiling. The unkindness hurt the most. She'd tried so hard to be a good daughter. But what her father really wanted was a perfect daughter and a perfect son which meant being his perfect puppets, not individuals.
Brushing aside hot, angry tears, she stalked to the window. She stared outside at her view, wrestling with her resentment and hurt. She'd chosen this setting because it held all she loved about the north woods—a thick pine forest, a silver blue lake—some of God's art. Today, fall leaves were turning amber, russet, and crimson, fluttering on branches and then floating down onto the still lake. The view was dazzling. She took a deep cleansing breath.
Burke came up behind her. "What's wrong?" he asked.
She pulled herself together. "My furniture isn't going to come today." She kept looking out the window. "I cancelled the order. I don't think I should have to put up with such bad service." Her voice shook though she tried to hide it.
"Don't let him win," Harlan said quietly from behind her.
Keely tensed, sensing that Harlan had somehow guessed that her father was the one responsible for this delay.
"Come on, Nick," Harlan said. "We'll go outside and look around. I want to see if they assembled her dock right."
Then only she and Burke stood looking out the window, side by side, so near and yet so separated. For a second she imagined herself turning and resting her head against Burke's chest. She could almost feel the brushed cotton of his plaid shirt under her cheek. What would it feel like to have someone to turn to?
"Don't let anything spoil today, this moment . . ." His voice was rough and low. What was he struggling with?"Your first home, your first day in it."
His words were just the right ones. She rotated her shoulder muscles, making herself loosen up. She inhaled again, regaining control. Then she turned around and, with an effort, smiled up at him. "Well, let's go over to my parents' home. We can pick up my bedroom set. I was going to ask you to do it before you left today. I'll at least have something to sleep on then."
"Do you think that's a good idea?" Burke looked skeptical.
She didn't act as if she didn't understand why he asked this. "My parents won't be there. They flew out to California for a week. My mother had just come back but was thrilled to finally get my father out there." And her father had made it sound like it was Keely's responsibility to see that her brother didn't get into trouble while they were gone. Though she'd keep an eye on Grady, she refused to go along with the guilt trip. Grady was seventeen and ought to be able to take care of himself for one week. It had been another bid from her father, trying to torpedo her efforts to have an easy move.
"Okay, let's go." Burke gestured for her to lead the way.
Harlan and Nick were waiting for them out in Harlan's truck. Keely led Burke to her white SUV, but this time she gave him the keys. She just wanted to sit back and relax.
When they pulled up to Keely's parents' house, she got out and walked to the door. Her key, the one she'd had since she was sixteen, didn't fit. She stood staring at the door stupidly, bewildered. She'd left just over an hour ago to pick up a few things and meet Harlan at her house. Her father must have had the locksmith out right after she left. She seethed. Petty was the word that came to her mind. Didn't her father realize that the locksmith would let this story get out? Didn't he care what people thought of him? Recalling that he was still blocking the search warrant made her realize that her father didn't care what people thought, as long as he was in control. Why am I surprised? She turned back to the truck.
Not in the least surprised, Burke eyed Keely's discontented expression. "He changed the locks?"
"Yes." Her one word answer was laden with a mixture of frustration and resignation. She got in next to him. Harlan stood by Burke's door, and Nick came over and leaned his wrists on her open window.
"Why'd they do that?" Nick spoke for the first time."You can't get your furniture then."
"Exactly." Keely looked straight ahead.
Burke hadn't liked Franklin Turner when he'd met him that day on the courthouse steps. Now he had a few heated words he'd like to say to the man face to face. But further discussion of her father would only wound Keely. He stretched his arms forward, hooking his wrists on the top of the wheel, and changed tacks. "Isn't there any other place around here to buy furniture?"
"We could drive to Wausau or a few other towns, but I wanted to move in today—not shop for furniture." Keely's voice cracked with annoyance. "And even if we went today, usually the stores have to order the furniture. No one around here has a large local warehouse."
"What about the auction?" Nick spoke up, an edge in his tone.
"What auction?" Keely glanced at him.
Burke asked the same question silently. How did his nephew know about a local auction?
"Shane asked me if I wanted to work the auction with him," Nick explained as though he expected an argument."He carries heavy stuff to cars for people, and sometimes he delivers it home for them if it's big and they don't have a truck. He says he can make a hundred bucks in tips at an auction—easy. Usually more." Now his nephew sounded enthusiastic.
This enthusiasm was the first Burke had witnessed in the weeks his nephew had lived with him."Why didn't you tell me Shane asked you?"
Nick shrugged. "You said you needed help moving Ms. Turner into her new house."
"Next time—" Burke emphasized the first two words—"let me know if you get a better offer. I have the whole day off. Ms. Turner and I would have accommodated your work schedule."
"Can we go then?" Nick watched them with wary eyes.
"When did it start?" Harlan asked.
Nick glanced at his watch. "It won't start till noon. We got more than an hour to get there and look around."
Burke looked to Keely. What would she think of secondhand furniture? On the upside, the auction might get her mind off her parents. "Up for it?"
She nodded slowly. "Why not? Let's go. If I can get a bed and a table and chairs, I'll be able to manage until I have time to shop again."
From his back pocket, Nick pulled out the classified ad from the Steadfast Times for "Another Colonel Rene Bouchard Auction" and read aloud the address of the farm where it would take place.
Soon Burke drove off in Keely's white SUV, guided by her clear directions. Harlan and Nick, driving Harlan's truck, followed.
Over the past two years, Burke's sister had "guilted" him into going to a couple of auctions—one of her passions—with her and Nick, so he wasn't surprised that Nick would feel comfortable around one. It would bring back something familiar from his life in Milwaukee.When they arrive, the farm and its white frame house were flanked by a ragged line of parked trucks and cars up and down the country road. A crowd, dressed in autumn colors and denim, milled inside the barn and around the yard. Feeling an unexpected spurt of anticipation, Burke parked in a weedy wedge between two pickups and got out. Nick jumped out the driver's side of Harlan's truck while Burke helped Keely out of the SUV.
"This must be the Armbruster estate sale," she said, looking around. "She died about six weeks ago without any close relatives. The out of state heirs must want to sell everything off."
"Yes, and she never threw a thing away." Harlan chuckled. "No wonder they're having a tag sale and auction. Bet she left three generations of stuff."
"Looks
interesting." Burke led Keely over the grassy yard, then took her arm to help her up the rutted drive. The day was bright. The cloudless blue sky made it a crisp morning, but the sunshine was warming them. Burke's spirits lifted, but he hid it. Here in the public eye, he had to make sure he didn't let his guard down and show how much he enjoyed being in Keely's company.
"Hey!" Nick, who'd kept up with them, shouted and waved. "Shane!" From about thirty feet away, a grinning Shane motioned for Nick to join him near the barn.
Burke urged his nephew away. "Go on. Help Shane out while we look everything over. We'll get together after the auction."
Without a backward glance, Nick galloped off.
"Well, I see they have a tent set up with coffee and doughnuts," Harlan said. "Now that sounds like just what I need. I do like a full service auction." He grinned. "Happy shopping, you two. See you later." The older man waved at someone and headed for a small tent with folding tables and chairs set up under it.
"I've noticed that Shane and Nick have been hanging out together this week," Keely commented as she took a small jump over a deep rut.
Burke appreciated her sympathetic tone, but he only nodded. Watching her every move tested him. He longed to reach out and pull her closer by his side.
"What do you want to look at first?" He had to choke back different words, words about how much he enjoyed walking beside her, how just being near her made him feel...different.
"Well ..." A smile lifted her face.
The sight caught Burke and he couldn't look away. Her expression competed with the sunshine. Why can't I shut off these feelings? They aren't appropriate and I know it.
"Why don't we see what Mrs. Armbruster had in the way of furniture?" she suggested.
With a courtly nod, he gestured for her to precede him toward the farmhouse. The furniture had been moved outside into the yard. The shaggy grass looked as if it hadn't been mowed all summer and fall. Burke and Keely strolled around the house, examining the antiques and old furniture scattered among the high grass, weeds, and dried wildflowers, the pieces looking abandoned or shipwrecked in the bright autumn sunshine.
"See anything you like?" Burke asked, trying to sound natural.
"Well, I hadn't thought about furnishing with antiques." Keely studied the old iron bed frame in front of her. "But there are several good pieces here."
Burke noticed the people around Keely stopping to drink in Keely's words. He motioned her toward the front of the house and whispered in her ear wryly, "Don't say stuff like that. You'll drive up the prices."
The wind was playing with tendrils of her hair that had come loose from her more casual Saturday topknot—enticing him. Unable to stop himself, he flicked the collar of her red, green, and blue plaid shirt, as if teasing her, but really wanting to touch the pale skin of her slender neck. He broke eye contact and led her to the entrance.
At the bottom of the front steps, a woman sat behind a folding table with a cash box on it. She smiled automatically and handed them a long printed sheet. "Here's the list of the items to be auctioned or sold. This is a combination tag sale and auction." The woman continued in a singsong voice. "The big items, furniture and large pieces like floor lamps and farm equipment, many of them antique, are outside and will be auctioned. Inside, the smaller household wares and linens, etc. are all marked for sale. Enter at the rear and exit here by me. I'll tally and mark your items and receive payment."
Aware of how many times this poor woman had had to repeat this, Burke found himself smiling at her.
At first confused, the woman stared at him and then grinned back. "Did she drag you to this?"
"No, I brought her," Burke replied.
The woman chuckled. "Lucky her."
Keely glanced back and forth between them. Then she grinned too.
Burke felt himself loosening, relaxing. He tried to tighten up his self control. Keep it cool. Just stick to the program. "Let's get started."
He led Keely around and into the back door. The porch contained a huddle of garden implements and old clay pots.
Pausing, Keely picked up a rusty tin watering can and examined it as though it were a prize goblet.
"Uh, Keely," Burke cautioned, "I don't think that will hold water—"
"I know." She smiled at him. "But I think it would look pretty with dried flowers in it."
He shrugged. "You're the boss." He took it from her and waved her on.
Up three steps, the kitchen looked to Burke like it had already been picked over pretty well. But Keely took her time inspecting the variety of kitchen gadgets. "I don't really cook," she confessed to Burke. "I don't know what I'd need."
"Well, you'd need dishes and silverware," he said.
"Those sets will be auctioned later," a plump woman in a denim jumper, standing in the doorway, spoke up.
"Thanks," Burke said. He let Keely precede him into the dining room with its faded carpet and curtainless windows. Yellowed linens in open boxes lined the walls. Keely knelt and began picking through the starched tablecloths and napkins. Burke stood behind her, observing her intense concentration on these everyday items. Keely was enjoying this tag sale and auction. It had obviously taken her mind off her father's unkindness. He thought about his own parents. Burke hadn't appreciated his mom's pressuring him to take Nick with him. He hadn't liked facing up to his own sin of neglecting his family, but his mother had been right, he realized now.
However, Franklin Turner had been wrong. But then Turner had been wrong about the shooting case too. His not handing over the bullets upon request and then blocking the search warrant had only cast more guilt over his son, not less. You're not as smart as you think you are, Turner.
"I wonder if they have sheets and pillowcases," Keely asked, looking around.
"Some are on the opposite wall. More upstairs." The same woman motioned to more boxes. "Here's a bag you can fill up."
Burke accepted the paper shopping bag from the local grocery, and Keely filled it with an embroidered tablecloth, matching napkins, and several embroidered hand towels. Then she went to the other side of the room and picked out sheets and pillowcases, edged in hand-tatted lace.
"I see this all the time," the woman who'd helped them said. "People save the best they have and for what? For strangers to buy after they're dead. All this beautiful handwork, yellowing with age wrapped in tissue in drawers. I bet she never let herself enjoy it." The woman shook her head.
"Don't worry," Keely promised. "I intend to use it and enjoy it."
Enjoy it. His mind repeated those words, and he realized he was taking pleasure in today, something he hadn't done in a long, long time. He didn't feel he deserved it though. On the other hand, Keely merited carefree days like this more often. And she deserved a man who could give her this and his love. I deserve to be alone. A bitter taste came into his mouth. Memories of failure to be there when Sharon needed him always came back to haunt him. Masking this, he led Keely toward the staircase in the hall.
"Thank you." She gave him one of her dazzling, staggering smiles.
And his guilt melted.
Good feelings filled him. He couldn't help himself. He drew her a few inches closer and took her arm as they walked up to the second floor landing. She smiled at him again. He tried to stem the warm and unusual tide this unleashed but failed. It carried him along, and each time she smiled it crested higher.
By the time Burke walked down the front steps to the woman at the folding table, he carried paper and plastic grocery bags filled with linens, knickknacks, books, some samplers, and old framed photographs and prints. After setting down the large box she also carried, Keely beamed at the woman and paid the modest sum tallied for the items.
Though still keeping her at arm's length, Burke relished Keely's happy mood.
As they walked back from stashing her finds inside her SUV, Keely enthused, "I've never been to a sale like this. Only to antique shops and they aren't fun like this. It's like a treasure hunt."
> Burke chuckled dryly. "Watch it. Tag sales and auctions can be addicting. My sister and my mom go out once a week—rain, snow, or shine."
"Really?"
"Time for the auction!" a voice yelled.
Keely and Burke hurried back to the area in front of the barn. A distinguished-looking gentleman with white hair whom Burke assumed to be Colonel Bouchard stood on a platform there and explained the rules of the auction and the instructions about payment.
Burke settled himself, leaning against the open barn door. He was all too aware of people looking at them and their glances said exactly what Burke felt. Keely Turner was too good for him. Unaware, Keely, looking keyed up, stood just in front of him. Then with a tap of the colonel's gavel, the auction began.
After losing out on several bids, Keely won one of the antique, painted-iron double bedstead. Next, she bargained doggedly for a bird's-eye maple dresser and matching vanity with its trifold mirrors and a matching chair. The other bidders glared at her.
Burke stood beside her, drawn irresistibly in by her animation and intensity. The items were coming fast and furious now: an antique hurricane lamp, a copper bed warmer, and ornate sterling silver tableware, then china. And the bidding was getting hotter. Colonel Bouchard rattled off, "One hundred—make it a hundred and fifty— make it two. Hep. Hep."
The oak dining room set with a round table, leaf, and six chairs was brought forward by Shane and Nick, who had somehow become part of the auction process. The bidding started at two hundred and fifty dollars, but was soon up to twice that. Keely hung on until she won it.
"Sold for nine hundred dollars! To the lovely lady in the plaid shirt!"
Flushed with the thrill of success, she beamed at Burke.
From behind them came an envious voice laced with resentment. "That's Turner's kid. Showing off. Spending her dad's money."
Keely froze.
Red hot anger scorched Burke inside; he pulled her closer beside him. For one cent, he'd have punched the guy.