by Susan Hatler
His mother narrowed her eyes with that go-ahead-and-run-away-coward look she’d perfected. Of course, even he had to admit she was right, but it didn’t matter. The last thing he wanted was a woman in his life. Not after what happened with his last girlfriend.
“I’ll walk you out,” his mother offered.
He thought about dissuading her, but she wouldn’t listen anyway. With one last glance at the beauty standing in the middle of the kitchen, he bolted, with a promise to bury himself in work and stay away from Lisa Mortan.
“I told you she was beautiful,” his mother whispered.
“Cultured, long legs, smart, and don’t forget educated. Yes, I’ve heard it all. A few times. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested,” Eric barked. He didn’t mean to be rude, but Judy Gaylord needed a firm hand or she’d take over quick.
“I’m just saying.” His mother shrugged in a careless gesture.
Eric halted at the front door, clutching the handle. “Don’t. I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
His mother’s small hand rested between his shoulder blades. “It’s been almost two years. It’s time to let her go.”
“No. I-I can’t.” He turned the knob.
“It wasn’t your fault. You need to stop blaming yourself.”
“Yes, it was. I ignored the woman I claimed to love, and when she needed me most, I wasn’t there.”
Judy stepped to his side. “You didn’t know about the baby.”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s dead. The baby’s dead. There’s nothing else to talk about.” Eric shoved the door open. “I have to go.” He fled from the shop into the icy downpour, away from his mother’s meddling, from Lisa Mortan and her long firm legs, and from the torture of haunting memories.
Chapter Three
Lisa lifted what felt like the fiftieth box of the day and placed it on the dining table. Rubbing her shoulders, she eyed the last three and sighed. Who knew opening a store would be so tough? Even after all the work Judy and her son had done before she arrived, there was still more staging and unpacking to last another few days.
Judy patted Lisa’s back on her way to the cash register, where she deposited a decorative vase half-full of glass beads. “Girl, you look tired. Sit, take a load off.”
“I’m fine.” When Judy gave her a skeptical look, she said, “Seriously. I know not everyone can be as fit as you, but I’m hanging in there.”
Judy waved the compliment away with her hand then took a handful of sunflower-topped pens from the drawer and arranged them in the vase. “Oh, shush. We both know you’re half my age, and twice the leg height. You ever a model?”
Lisa laughed. “Me? A model? I don’t even like having my picture taken.” She slid the box cutter across the strip of packing tape and yanked the top of the box open, the ripping and popping sounds echoing how she felt. Her world had been torn apart and here she was in a small town, trying to put the pieces back together.
She glanced at all the beautiful merchandise and realized her dream of having a life outside the craziness of New York City, and all the judgment that went with it, was displayed elegantly around her. Perhaps she could stay here indefinitely and raise the baby, if this store worked out. It didn’t have to be a temporary investment, or a detour on her path in life. It could be her home.
Judy donned her coat and slipped her purse over her arm. “Going to collect a few items from the Mitchell’s. I’ll be back in an hour. Now, you leave whatever heavy lifting there is for Eric. He’ll be around on his lunch break. Feel free to take a break when he gets here,” Judy said, and Lisa could have sworn the older woman winked.
“I’m sure I can manage. I hate to keep bothering him. Besides, Judy, I think we need to talk.” Lisa tagged and placed eight linen napkins on the antique wooden top of a formal dining table, stalling to find the right words. “I get the impression you hope Eric and I will be…well, more than just friends. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
Judy retrieved her lipstick from her purse and smoothed burgundy across her mouth. “Oh, dear, don’t be silly. Besides, don’t worry about bothering him. He needs the distraction. And those legs are definitely a distraction.” She capped the lipstick and slipped it back into her purse.
“No, please don’t go there. Besides, he wouldn’t be interested.” Lisa didn’t want this endeavor to go belly up before they even started. She’d sunk all her savings, everything, into this in an attempt to flee New York, and Mark. Setting her only son up with an unwed mother would never go over well. Especially in a small town like Creekside―as, the internet put it, the sleepy little town in the heart of the Bible belt. The one place Mark was sure never to visit. He’d turned his back on God the day his father committed suicide, and would never set foot in a town like this.
“Why not? You’re tall, green eyed, and have the silken chocolate brown mane of a prize pony.” Judy waved her hand once more then hurried to the door. “What guy wouldn’t want you?” She disappeared before Lisa could even open her mouth to reply.
She stared after the older woman, her mouth and throat gone dry. Only the father of my child. She knew she had to tell Judy soon. Maybe if they could get through the opening, and let a few weeks go by then… Judy would know her better and not want to run away screaming. Then she could help Lisa find the perfect parents to raise her baby before she returned to New York. If there were good parents anywhere, they had to be in this town.
The door clicked shut, giving Lisa the excuse to keep her secret a little longer. She rubbed her belly and sat in the chair by the side table, pushing another small box around with her toe.
All of this was so insane. Perhaps Mark was right. Maybe she had no business having a baby. Perhaps I should have an… Her stomach rolled at the thought. No. I couldn’t do it. Even if she had the baby and gave it up for adoption, it was better than terminating. “I can’t just get rid of you like an out of season shoe. No matter how much Mark protested—” She swallowed. “—and threatened.” Her hand slipped from her belly to her wrist, the bruise only a pale yellow now.
The door jingled and Eric stepped inside.
She quickly pulled her sleeve down and poofed out her loose shirt.
He rotated his broad shoulders, removing his coat one arm at a time. “Where’s Mom?”
“She ran out to pick up a few more things. Grand opening’s tomorrow.” Lisa clutched the corner of the box and lifted it from the ground. Dozens of envelopes slipped out and spread across the floor as the bottom of the box broke. She tossed the box to the side and bent down to pick them up. On hands and knees, she swiped them into a pile and raked them into her blousy shirt.
“Here’s another one.” Eric retrieved a small, antiqued looking envelope and flipped it over. “This is addressed to Mom. Its post marked in the late sixties.”
She pushed up and sat back down on the dining chair. “Who’s it from?”
“Don’t know.” He scrubbed his chin. “Can’t make it out. Hand me another one.”
She flipped through the ones she’d scooped into her shirt. “Here. This one says PFC Benjamin.”
His fingers grazed hers and a shock bolted up her hands. Crazy pregnancy hormones were making her super sensitive. But this time, she wouldn’t let them trick her into falling for the wrong guy. It never worked out. Relationships never lasted. Besides, she was pregnant. What guy would want to take on a woman about to have a baby?
“It’s from before my parents were married. But…she never mentioned anyone from the military.” His brows furrowed as he slid his finger under the flap.
“You can’t read them. Not without her permission.” She held her shirt tight to her and sauntered to the counter, unloading them near the cash register. “If she wants to share, she will. Now, hand it over.” She held out her hand and gave the sternest look she could manage.
He lifted his gaze from the envelope to her outstretched palm then to her eyes. His dark pupils widened until t
he sky blue pools she thought she could lose herself in were nearly covered. He stepped forward, his cologne tugging at her determination. Not the urban, yuppie scent her olfactory senses were used to, but a manly, rich aroma of spice and musk.
His lips tugged at one corner. Breath lodged in her throat as he leaned in, resting his elbow atop the counter. He waved the envelope in front of her. “Only until I can find out her secret.”
She snatched it and returned it to the rest of the correspondences.
“So, do you have a secret?” he asked. He straightened to his full height, shoulders back, but not in the intimidating way Mark would stand. There was no real threat, just an air of prodding where she didn’t want him to.
“No. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, turning on her heels and heading back to the boxes. Anything to escape the cologne teasing her interest in something she could never have.
He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You enter into a business with my mom, who you have no prior relationship with, move to a small town, and invest in a building and supplies unseen. So, which is it? Are you running away from something, or looking for something?”
Her heart slammed into her sternum. Oh God, does he know? But how? Certainly she had more time before she faced everyone. She hadn’t even convinced herself she’d made the right decision. How in the world would she convince everyone else?
“I know,” Eric continued casually. “You’re an outlaw, running from some horrific crime you committed back in New York City. You worked at a museum, right? So, you’re an art thief then.” He smiled, bearing bright, straight teeth before he leaned over the counter and gently tugged her hand until the yellow bruise on her wrist peeked from under her sleeve. “My guess is you’re running from something, or someone.”
She snatched her arm away. A wave of heat seared through, erupting a thundering pulse in her ears. Too personal, too fast. She needed to turn the conversation around before his compassionate eyes drew the truth from her lips. This man before her looked like a God, had a saint for a mother, and surrounded her with the feeling of safety. But it was a farce, an image her prego brain had invented due to feelings of loneliness and abandonment. She didn’t need a shrink to tell her that. Her knees weakened and she perched on the side of the table to keep from falling to the ground.
“Whatever you’re here for, we’ll keep you safe.” His voice deepened with a promise of protection.
Yep, crazy prego brain.
She gave him a weak smile. “You caught me. You going to turn me over to the art thief police? That painting over there isn’t really from an old attic. It’s a Rembrandt.”
His deep laughter filled the room and a twinkle appeared in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before.
“I like that,” she mumbled.
“What?” he asked.
“Your laugh. It’s one of those laughs that can make a bad day turn good.”
His face immediately morphed from the carefree look of a young man bantering with a friend to the wounded look of someone broken. A suspicious twitch quirked his lips, raising his cheek close to his eye. “Where did you hear that?” he asked, backing away. His mouth pressed in a firm line and a sadness tugged at his brows.
“What? Uh, nowhere.” Her eyes followed him as he rushed to the door. What did I say? “Where are you going? You’re mother said you’d help with the heavy lifting.”
“Mom took this too far. It’s one thing to introduce us, but it’s another to…” He shoved his arms into the pockets of his coat then turned to face her. “You know what? You’re right.”
“About what?”
“I shouldn’t read Mom’s letters. They’re private and people shouldn’t meddle into private affairs.” Without another word, he bolted from the store, leaving only the chill of the winter air behind.
Chapter Four
Lisa retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen. Twisting the top off, she leaned against the wall, searching for an answer to what just happened. One minute he was laughing, and the next he looked like she’d stabbed him. What had she said?
The jingle of the door’s bell drew Lisa through the swinging door to the front of the store.
“Wow. What was that about?” A woman with crazy blonde, curly hair entered with Judy.
Judy kicked the door closed behind them with a slam. “It wasn’t you.”
“Is he still hung up on—”
“Everyone can have a bad day,” Judy said. “Put that over there.” She tilted her head to the corner of the room then set an opened box full of candlesticks and clocks on the dining table. “Cathy Mitchell, this is Lisa Mortan.”
Cathy approached Lisa with a gloved hand outstretched, her curly locks bouncing high around her head. “Pleasure, darling.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lisa replied.
“Why you don’t have an accent at all. I was expectin’ some curt city girl with a northern accent.” Cathy tried to turn her southern drawl into a Jersey clip, but it sounded more like a false twang from a bad movie.
“I’m originally from out west.” Lisa eyed the intricately carved wood and etched glass candlesticks in the box. “These are beautiful.”
“My great-grandmama’s,” Cathy beamed.
“You want to part with these?” Lisa traced the heart design on the side of one of the candlesticks. Why would anyone want to give away a family heirloom? Certainly, the emotional attachment was worth more than what the store could bring. If she had inherited anything from family members, she’d never part with it.
“I wanted to do my part to help launch a new local business. It’s always important to support your neighbors.”
Lisa caught Judy rolling her eyes behind Cathy’s back, indicating the purpose wasn’t entirely selfless. “Well, we thank you. Of course, we’ll barter for a great price,” Lisa replied. Cathy’s lips drooped. Judy cupped her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. What did I say this time?
“Yes, well. I don’t need the money, it’s just good charity,” Cathy said.
Judy dropped her arms down to her sides. “That’s so generous of you. Thank you so much.”
Cathy turned to Judy then back to Lisa, her brows arched high above her eyes, yet her forehead didn’t move. “Yes, well, I…” Cathy straightened her coat and cleared her throat, “I hope it works out. I don’t like to gossip, but I thought you should know. The Russells are talking about opening their own store. You know, she can’t handle anyone else having success without them involving her. You better watch your back, Judy. Did you hear about her smokin’—”
Judy held up her palm. “I appreciate your warning. It’s good of you to have our back. I know you don’t like to gossip and you’re extremely busy.”
“Busy?” Cathy’s eyes lit with recognition, as though she’d just remembered something important. “Oh darling, you know I’m running the Sweetwater County Hoe Down tonight. I’ve been organizing the silent auction, calling people, not to mention tagging all the items.” Cathy rubbed her temples with exaggerated circles.
“We should let you get back to it,” Lisa offered, anxious for the woman to be on her way. “Thank you so much for donating this to the shop. If you find anything you like here, we’d be happy to give you a discount,” Lisa added, attempting to help Judy, who obviously also wanted to get away from Cathy.
Judy mouthed thank you and shuffled to the door.
“Well, I don’t buy used items, but if you ever have anything new, let me know. I’ll see you tonight, right?” Cathy asked. “We all have to do our part to help the less fortunate on the other side of the creek.” She whirled like a beast, her hair a tarnished halo around her head, then marched out the door. Bang. The ceramic cat resting on the side table waffled and fell to the floor, landing on an oriental rug with a thud.
“Well, there wouldn’t be a proper Sweetwater County store opening without Cathy Mitchell.” Judy clapped her hands together. “Okay, what’s left?”
“Nothing really.” Lisa gestured around the room. “There’s just one small box and a few pieces of furniture. Oh, and we found some letters. They’re up on the counter.”
“Letters?” Judy asked.
“Yes. When I lifted that box, they fell through the bottom. I believe they were written back in the sixties and early seventies.”
The color in Judy’s face drained and she wobbled before resting on the sage and antique quilt on the bed. “I forgot about those.” She shook her head. “Did Eric read them? Is that why he stormed out of here?”
“No. I wouldn’t let him. They belong to you. But…I’m not sure what happened. He was laughing about something, and I complemented him then he just…bolted.”
“That’s strange.” Judy rose from the bed, her eyes distant, and ambled to the counter.
“I said something about how his laugh could turn a bad day good, but I don’t know why that…”
Judy stopped in her tracks and silence filled the room. Two long breaths later, she continued forward with a slight chuckle. “It’s nothing you did, dear. Everyone has their skeletons to deal with. My son’s no different.”
Lisa wanted to ask what that meant, but that box wasn’t one she intended to unpack just yet. If she pried into their personal lives, there was a good chance they’d pry into hers. “So, who are the letters from, if I may ask?”
“From a long lost love,” she mumbled, lifting each letter one by one.
Lisa knew she should shut her mouth and let Judy be, but she was curious. “Did you know him before marrying Eric’s dad?”
“Yes. He was his cousin.” Judy opened one envelope, a glint of tears in her eyes. “He was the love of my life.”
“What happened?” Lisa asked tentatively.
Judy rested the opened letter on the counter and looked off into some other world. “He was captured during the war and presumed dead.”