by Mia Ross
Just like it was for her brothers and so many other Calhouns, Emma mused with a mental sigh. She just wished she’d inherited more of it. While she and Daphne traded news, Emma wondered again about the invitation. It had come from out of the blue, and while the two of them weren’t strangers, they’d never gotten together just the two of them until now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Daphne had suggested this lunch for a reason that had nothing to do with finger sandwiches and freshly brewed iced tea.
“You and Holly just got back from Paris,” Emma said at one point. “Did you girls have some wild adventures?”
Laughing brightly, Daphne pantomimed turning a lock on her lips and tossing away the key. Then she winked and added more sugar to her drink. “You folks up here haven’t quite figured out this cold tea idea. No matter what I tell people, they never make it sweet enough for me.”
Emma wasn’t sure what to say, so she just smiled and sipped her own, which was perfectly sugared for her taste. After a bite of a sandwich, Daphne swallowed and sat back, crossing one silk pant leg over the other. Giving Emma a thoughtful look, she finally got down to business. “When I’m in Paris, I always visit the Louvre and marvel at all the fabulous artwork they have inside those walls. During this trip, I had a thought.”
“About?”
“You. Specifically, your job situation. Would you rather I didn’t interfere, or are you interested in hearing it?”
“Very interested,” Emma replied, leaning forward eagerly. This woman had crafted a long, successful career in the most cutthroat business on earth outside of politics. If Daphne had some insight for her, she was more than open to suggestions.
“Well, I noticed several groups of school children at the Louvre, all in their matching uniforms, listening to one of the docents drone on about something or other. My French isn’t the best, but I could pick up one thing—they were bored out of their little skulls. Art isn’t for talking about. It’s for experiencing firsthand, getting your fingers dirty or full of paint while you create something out of thin air. Would you agree?”
“Wholeheartedly. When we were growing up, Granddad always told us that the best way to learn is to try and fail, then pick yourself up and try again. When you learn how not to do something, you’re one step closer to figuring out how to succeed.”
Approval twinkled in Daphne’s eyes. “A wise man. Sam and Brian quote him like that all the time. I wish I could have met him.”
“You would’ve liked each other,” Emma commented with a smile, glancing around the sunroom that Sam had restored to its original glory. “He always loved this old place, and he’d be happy knowing that you liked it well enough to bring it back to life.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Now, back to your problem. I have an idea for you.”
Daphne motioned around her in a sweeping, dramatic gesture reminiscent of the screen persona she’d cultivated during her long career. “You and I have discussed my art collection many times, because we have the same fondness for the Impressionists. Your work has the same soft, dreamy quality of Monet and Degas, and I know from talking to Chase that you encourage your students to interpret the world around them in their own unique ways. You’re the kind of teacher I want for my grandson, and for all the other children in our school.”
“That’s very flattering, and I really appreciate your support of me,” Emma said, still curious about where this was heading. “What did you have in mind?”
“The Daphne Mills Fine Arts Department,” she responded, holding up her hand and moving it slowly through the air as if she was tracing the lettering on an invisible sign. Then she met Emma’s eyes intently. “I’ll provide the funding, you provide the expertise. You and the music teachers keep your jobs, and the kids keep three of their favorite teachers. It’s a win-win.”
Clearly, this woman had more than a little experience with negotiating, while Emma felt very much out of her element. Taking a moment to let the burst of excitement subside, she toyed with her spoon to pull her thoughts together. Keenly aware that her potential fairy godmother’s feelings could be easily hurt, she started simply. “Daphne, that’s incredibly generous of you.”
“Practical, you mean. We have a problem at the school, and this is an obvious solution. Frankly, I’m disappointed that you and Rick didn’t approach me about it sooner. I had to hear about it through the grapevine.”
Her forehead knit into an expression that told Emma she was being honest about her disappointment, and Emma quickly said, “Honestly, it didn’t occur to us.” She wasn’t actually sure about Rick, but she forged ahead, anyway. “From what I gather, your proposal—wonderful as it is—can’t be accomplished at a public school. Our funding comes from the state, with money specifically targeted to certain areas.”
“That’s absurd,” Daphne spat, eyes flaring indignantly. “Every sports event I go to does fund-raising for their kids. Those are school-sponsored teams.”
“The money goes to the booster club, and they use it for the team’s benefit,” Emma explained calmly. “That’s different.”
Clearly flustered by the obstacle, Daphne fumed for several moments before announcing, “So we need an arts department booster club.”
“That would be great, but the school year’s almost over, so we can’t accomplish much now. Even if it was earlier in the year, any money we’d be able to earn wouldn’t make up the shortfall.” Pausing for breath, she went on sadly. “I might be able to help out by going to part-time, but I’m still paying off college loans and some pretty steep medical bills. I can’t afford that kind of hit to my salary.”
“Meaning you have to work full-time, either here or somewhere else.”
“Exactly. But I’m very grateful to you for trying to help, Daphne.”
“If only there was something I could do.” Sitting back again, Daphne tapped the rim of her glass with a perfectly manicured coral nail. Something lit her eyes, and she smiled across the bistro table at Emma. “What if I sponsor your after-school arts program? At least that way, the kids will have a creative outlet, even if they won’t have an official art class anymore.”
Overjoyed, Emma impulsively leaped from her chair and hugged her. She didn’t often do things like that, and when she regained her senses, she quickly pulled away. “I’m sorry. Did I crush you?”
“Yes, but there’s no harm done. From your enthusiasm, can I assume that you’d like to take me up on my offer?”
“Absolutely,” Emma gushed, returning to her seat wearing a grin so big, she could almost see it herself. “I’m just not sure how to set it up properly.”
“I’m sure Rick can help us with that,” Daphne announced confidently, waving a regal hand as if that was enough to make it happen. “From what I’ve heard, he’s good with numbers and isn’t averse to bending the rules to benefit people he cares about.”
Emma got the impression that Daphne had acquired some bad intel from the town’s active gossip chain and hastily set her straight. “There’s nothing special going on between Rick and me. We’re just working together on this school issue, that’s all.”
“Nothing special,” Daphne repeated, arching one expertly sculpted brow in obvious disagreement. “Are you sure about that?”
“Completely.”
That response got her a dubious head tilt, and Emma fought the urge to squirm. She managed to keep her cool, though, and was relieved when Daphne shifted topics to the recent art show and what kinds of projects the students had put on display.
Their conversation was light and casual, similar to others they’d had in the past, and Emma was thankful to have the spotlight off her private life. Not that she had anything to hide where Rick Marshall was concerned. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in having anything more with her than sharing the occasional walk around town or dinner with his girls. Especially considering how much he’d been through wit
h his late wife’s cancer, she was content with having him as just a friend.
But now that Daphne had suggested that he might be feeling something more for her, Emma couldn’t help wondering if she was right.
* * *
When Rick showed up for paint duty on Saturday afternoon, the contractor in charge gave him a long, doubtful stare. His work clothes weren’t covered in paint and grease like the others, so he could understand the man’s concern. “I did this kind of work all through college. I promise you, I know what I’m doing.”
Still unconvinced, Roger dipped an angled brush into a small can of trim color and handed it to him, handle first. “All right, then. Show me what ya got.”
Rick smothered a grin as he chose a section of window trim that had been primed but was still missing its final coat. Working carefully but quickly, he laid down a perfect line of white that stood out from the faded paint around it. He worked his way along the sill, encouraged by the fact that Roger didn’t tell him to stop. Bolstered by the man’s unspoken approval, he kept going until he reached the other side.
Turning, he reminded himself not to sound too eager. “Whattya think?”
The painter strolled along, leaning in to study Rick’s work as if it was being considered for a museum. Meeting Rick’s eyes in the direct New Englander manner that signified respect, he nodded. “It’ll do.”
Without another comment, he turned on the heel of a paint-spattered boot and strode across the sanctuary to oversee the crew patching the old plasterwork on the other wall.
“Don’t take it too hard, Rick,” a familiar voice said as a hand came down on his shoulder from behind. “He made his own son apply for an open job last year, and the kid’s been working in the business since he was ten.”
Glancing back, he saw Brian Calhoun grinning at him.
“My father’s like that, too,” Rick informed him with a grin of his own. “He likes to say that family is family, and business is business. He doesn’t approve of mixing the two, which is why I work for a different bank.”
“Huh. Guess we’re the opposite. Grandad gave Dad his first job out of high school, and Sam and I love working together.”
“We do?” the oldest Calhoun growled as he joined them. Rick and Brian were both about six feet tall, but the former Army Ranger towered over them both. Rick had learned that Sam was a gentle giant, but he didn’t mind admitting that being around a guy built like an oak tree was a little intimidating.
“Sure, we do. With Jordan coming on board soon, it’ll be great. And profitable,” Brian added, obviously for Rick’s benefit.
“You can save that kind of talk for my office,” Rick told him, chuckling. “Today I’m just here to help spruce up the church, like everyone else.”
Neither of the Calhouns seemed to be in a hurry to get to work, and while they traded small talk, his instincts warned him that there was something unusual going on. Figuring it was up to them to bring up whatever was on their minds, he kept up his end of the lighthearted conversation, waiting for them to finally get to the point.
Before they had a chance, Emma sailed over, carrying a large tray full of snacks and lemonade. “Hello there, boys. Can I interest you in something sweet?”
“Always,” Brian answered, helping himself. Sam didn’t respond, and a quick glance over showed Rick that the contractor was eyeing him intently. More reserved than his younger brother, Sam’s expression didn’t give Rick even the slightest hint about what he might be thinking. And in Rick’s experience, that was usually a bad thing.
Smiling up at Rick, Emma leaned in and whispered, “There’s some snickerdoodles under that plate. I saved them for you.”
Returning her smile was a simple thing, and he didn’t bother trying to play it cool in front of her brothers. After taking a cup of lemonade, he thanked her and took a bite that just about melted in his mouth. “These are fantastic. Tell Ellie I said thank you.”
Her cheeks pinked a bit, and she gave him a shy smile. “Actually, I made them.”
“You did not,” Brian scoffed, looking at her as if she’d grown an extra head.
“Well, they’re Gran’s recipe, but I baked them myself. This is the fourth batch.”
“What happened to the first three?” he asked. When she remained silent, he laughed. “Enough said. Congrats, Emmy. You’re officially no longer a hazard in the kitchen.”
“Be nice and maybe I’ll learn how to make ginger snaps for you.”
He contemplated her offer for a few seconds and then shook his head, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Think I’ll play it safe and pass.”
Letting out an exasperated breath, she stuck her tongue out at him and went off in a huff that was plainly more drama than serious.
“Why’d you do that?” Sam demanded. “She worked hard on those cookies, and you hurt her feelings.”
“I treated her like I always do, instead of like someone who needs to be handled with kid gloves,” Brian reminded him in a quiet voice. “Like I did with you when you came home from the service.”
After a quiet moment Sam nodded. Normally, Rick would have felt awkward being part of what should have been a family moment, but for some reason he didn’t. It occurred to him that it was because the Calhouns apparently thought of him as more than an acquaintance.
Before he could pursue that thought, Sam cleared his throat and said, “We’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
Rick followed them to an alcove away from the bustling crew in the chapel. When they were in relative privacy, Emma’s older brothers stopped and turned to face him squarely. Their arms were folded, their faces set in comparable stony lines like two old-time gunfighters. If it hadn’t been him in the line of fire, it might’ve been funny.
Since he was the oldest, Sam went first. “We’re wondering—like a lot of folks in town—what’s going on with you and Emma?”
“Don’t beat around the bush, Sam,” Rick joked. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” Those looks went from stony to concrete, and he regretted trying to lighten the mood. “Sorry about that. I know you’re concerned about who she gets involved with, but we’re just friends.”
Brian made a derisive noise, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “Not a chance. Lindsay and I were ‘just friends,’ and look where we ended up.”
“We’re not you and Lindsay.”
“You spend an awful lotta time together,” Sam pointed out.
“Working on joint projects,” Rick insisted in an equally reasonable voice. “We have different strengths, and we complement each other. In a professional way,” he added quickly, just to be absolutely clear. Somehow, these two had gotten the idea that he was romantically interested in Emma, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
Sure, he enjoyed spending time with her. Listening to the amusing details of her days, which were so unlike his own. Watching her eyes sparkle while she shared the inspiration for her latest artwork. Who wouldn’t?
“She has dinner at your house almost every night,” Brian pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean anything. She has to eat somewhere, and my daughters love having her around.”
“What about you?” Sam asked in a voice so quiet that Rick had to strain to hear him over the background noise in the chapel.
He’d never been grilled this way, and while he understood their apprehension, he was just about done with their third degree. “I appreciate her company, and I assume she feels the same about me. But I promise you, that’s all it is.”
“Then you’re a moron,” Brian spat, apparently done with the subtle approach. “Emma’s an amazing person, and if you’re not interested in getting serious with her, then you’re not half as smart as I thought you were.”
The criticism stung, and Rick took a breath to cool his rising temper before speaking. “I have my reasons for not getting involved with E
mma that way. Personal reasons.”
“That’s fine,” Sam conceded somberly. “But do her a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Take off your wedding ring,” he growled, nodding in the direction of Rick’s left hand. “Folks’re starting to talk.”
With that, he stalked from the alcove with Brian close behind.
Watching them go, Rick bristled at the menacing order he’d just received. After he’d cooled down a little and thought about it again, he realized that Sam had a point—and every right to protect his sister from the sort of gossip that might affect her reputation. She was a teacher, after all, and while she had a right to a personal life, he recognized that in a small town like this, the parents of her students held her to a higher moral standard than most.
His own indecisiveness about her bobbed to the surface of his mind, and he questioned the wisdom of continuing to pretend that he wasn’t tempted to find out where those tentative steps might lead.
The choice he faced was obvious: he could either stay away from Emma completely or stop waffling and start dating her. The first option was a definite no, which left him with the second. Of course, it wasn’t his decision alone. If she wanted to remain friends, that would end his internal debate once and for all. But if she didn’t...
He’d never know until he asked. The trouble was, he hadn’t dated anyone other than Sarah since meeting her during his freshman year of college. While he wasn’t normally lacking for confidence, when it came to women, he didn’t have much experience. But this was Emma, and he’d told her so many things already, this shouldn’t be too hard.
Still, as he set out to find her, his stomach knotted in the kind of uneasiness he didn’t suffer from often enough to understand it. Losing his nerve wasn’t like him, and he gave himself a stiff mental shake to keep from chickening out.
From up ahead, he heard her laughing at something, and all his doubts vanished. Just the sound of it made him smile.