All thanks to Corin Carter Roscoe.
His cell phone shattered the moment and he pushed the pain from his mind. Good. Time to get back to the present. “Hello?”
“Cor? It’s Robin.”
“Hey, how are you?” Corin shook his head. Speak of the devil and Shasta’s strawberry blond wife ends up on the phone a few seconds later.
“Good. You?”
“Fine.”
“Can I ask a favor, Cor?”
“Anything. You know that.”
“I know, but only if it won’t cut into any other plans you might have.”
“What do you need?”
“I have buyers who have been looking at one of my listings who are willing to sign right now, and I don’t want to lose this one. And I need someone to pick up—”
“My favorite nephew.”
“Yes.”
“That means I’d have to drop him off at your house.” Corin opened the drawer and stared at the photo again.
“Yes.” Robin sighed.
“Which means I would probably have to go inside to make sure—”
“Don’t go inside. He’s been working on a big case, and he’s due in court next week and—”
“I know. You don’t have to make excuses.” Corin pushed the drawer with his pinky finger and watched it slide shut with a soft click. “It was only an idea.”
“Not a good one.”
When would it ever be good? Corin tried to swallow the regret, but it stuck in his throat. “I’ll leave right now.”
“Thanks.” She took a long breath. “And Cor?”
“Yeah?”
“Have faith. This life isn’t over yet. Shasta could still come around.”
Corin hung up, glanced at his calendar, then his watch and swore. Tori’s class would start in twenty minutes. There was no way he could pick up Sawyer from his Pee-Wee football practice, drop him off at his brother’s house, and get to Tori’s class on time.
This would be the third time this month he showed up after she’d started. Tori rarely complained about it, even though he often saw the frustration in her eyes. She always said don’t worry about it, that she had her faults too, but he did worry about it. Women like her were as rare as the 1876 Winchester Deluxe rifle sitting inside the locked vault hidden at the back of his store.
After dropping off Sawyer and waiting till he stepped inside his brother’s six-thousand-square-foot home, Corin glanced at his watch and mashed his gas pedal. No problem. He didn’t have to be late for Tori’s class. If he could average ninety-five mph across town, he’d make it just in time.
CHAPTER 2
Corin caught Tori’s piercing eyes the moment he stepped inside the dojo. She didn’t look mad. Not much. She glanced at her class, then back to him. Jet black hair. Almond-shaped eyes. Beautiful skin. There was something about Asian women that turned him into a moth, and Tori was Queen of the Flame.
“Hang on,” she said to her students and jogged over to Corin. She cinched up the belt surrounding her gi and grinned. “You’re late.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tori stood on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “On the other hand, because of it I’m going to kick your hind quarters tonight.”
“I am worried about it. It’s my second time this month.”
“Nah, I only kicked your caboose once in the past thirty days.”
“I’m talking about being late.”
“I know, and it’s been four times so far this month.”
“Really? I’m sorry.”
“We’ve already started.” Tori nodded, then jerked her head toward the mat filled with ten students ranging in age from mid-teens to mid-forties. “You better get changed.”
“Right.”
He’d agreed to take the class with Tori for three reasons: to learn self-defense. To be around Tori more. And to be around Tori more. He really didn’t care about the first reason.
And not only because she was the polar opposite of his ex-wife in every way.
They’d met three months ago, but it was tough keeping his brain from imagining at least three decades together.
At five-three she was almost a foot shorter than him and weighed almost a hundred pounds less, but she’d proven the old adage about size not mattering when it came to martial arts. And she didn’t think his obsession with BASE jumping, hang gliding, and other insane outdoor activities was, well, obsessive. She even joined him on many of his leaps into the rarefied air of courting Lady Death through extreme sports.
After fifteen minutes Tori had the class pair up to practice sparring.
“Faster!” she called out. “Strike then retreat with focus. With speed. All the time considering your next counterattack.”
Corin’s partner, an African American kid who couldn’t be over fourteen, said, “Aren’t you kind of old to be learning this stuff?”
“Thirty-four isn’t old.”
“Yeah it is.”
Corin laughed. “Remind me in twenty years to ask if you still feel the same way.”
After ten minutes Tori called the class together. “Are you ready to learn a new move?” She paced back and forth, her dark black ponytail bouncing in rhythm to her steps.
Most of the students nodded. Corin shook his head no. He knew what learning a new move meant. Pain. And humiliation.
“Do we have a volunteer? I need someone big and strong. An athlete. Someone who might have rowed on a crew team in college.” She meandered her way back and forth till she stood directly in front of Corin. “Someone who’s still in pretty decent shape. Someone who likes living on the edge.”
Tori pretended to glance around the room before her eyes settled on Corin. She leaned forward, hands on hips, staring at him. “Anyone? Is there anyone here who fits that description? Come on, show me that hand.”
“Sure,” Corin said. “How ’bout me?”
“You?” Tori leaned back and frowned at him. “I didn’t even see you there.” The class laughed.
She led him to the front of the class and they squared off, their profiles to the students. “I want you to come at me. Hard. No holding back, okay?”
It still felt strange attacking a woman, especially one he was growing so fond of, but past experience told him he’d feel a greater degree of soreness the next day if he didn’t and there was little danger of hurting her.
He lunged forward and launched his fist toward her stomach.
Wham!
An instant later he stared up at her dark brown eyes, the back of his head pounding like a bass drum.
“You okay?” She winked at him.
“Super. This is better than bungee jumping any day.”
AFTER A QUICK shower, Corin strolled out of the dojo with Tori and headed down the street to find a reward for their physical exertion.
“You need a haircut.” She reached up and ruffled his dark brown hair.
Corin rubbed his head where she’d messed his hair. “A little long is okay. I’m a fashion pioneer. Longer hair will be coming back.”
“At least you know how to shave your whole face.”
He picked up a Gambel oak leaf from the sidewalk and held it up to her. “For you.”
She took it and slid it under her Tech40 sports watch. “I’ll treasure it always.”
Corin reached over and rubbed the back of her neck as they walked. “Are you thinking about stopping by Jamba Juice for a Blackberry Bliss, or does an Oreo cookie milkshake at Dairy Bar sound better?”
“Jamba. You need something healthy after a workout like that.”
“Oreos are healthy.”
“This ought to be good.” Tori smirked.
“Emotionally healthy. They make me feel happy.”
“And your gut big.”
Corin patted his stomach. “What have you got against my one-pack?”
“Nothing. It’s stunning.”
“Hang on, I’ll be right back.” Corin glan
ced both ways before jogging across the street to Dairy Bar where he ordered a large Oreo cookie shake.
Tori poked her finger at him as he jogged back and joined her on the sidewalk. “You can’t take that into Jamba Juice.”
“Sure I can. Watch.” He opened the door for her, and she scowled at him as she walked in.
Jamba Juice was empty except for one customer. Tori ordered a Caribbean Passion and they slid into a booth at the back of the store.
“It was a good class tonight, don’t you think?”
“You kicked my butt. In front of everyone. Again.” Corin sucked in a mouthful of her smoothie. “It’s a little embarrassing getting handled like that in front of all your students.”
“Why?” She grinned at him. “Because you outweigh me by at least one hundred pounds and are a foot taller?”
“Something like that.”
“Karate isn’t about size—”
“It’s about technique, I know.”
“Why were you late?”
“A slight emergency.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good to know.” Tori stared at him over the top of her straw as she swirled it around her cup. Her eyes asked him to say more, but her mouth stayed silent.
Thank you for not pressing me.
“Anything fun happen in your store today?”
Corin downed a large gulp of milkshake as a teenager in a wheelchair inched past their table. He couldn’t get away from it anywhere. Constant reminders of his idiocy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. It happened, yes. But it was eons ago. And he couldn’t go back in time to fix it.
So let it go.
Most of the time he could. Not most. Some.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Corin offered a smile that was only half forced. “And yes, as a matter of fact, something fun did happen. Peter Parker’s aunt came by the store with a gift.”
“Peter Parker?”
“You know, Spider-Man, Peter Parker. He has an Aunt May he lives with, or lived with, before he and Mary Jane got connected. This lady looked like her. Only prettier.”
“I’ve never really gotten into comics.”
“Didn’t you see any of the movies?”
“Sorry.” Tori shrugged. “I know they killed at the box office.”
“We’ll watch them sometime.”
“I can’t wait.”
Corin laughed, reached for Tori’s hands, and squeezed twice. She gave him two back.
“What was the gift?”
“A chair.”
“I’ll bet it was an antique.”
“Lucky guess. She gives me all this cryptic mumbo jumbo about the chair, how special it is, how the greatest craftsman who ever lived made it, etcetera.”
“She didn’t say why it’s so special?”
“She was a little strange. Wouldn’t give me her name, number, nothing.”
“Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”
“Ha.”
“It’s old?” Tori slurped up the last of her Caribbean Passion and tossed the cup at the nearby trash can. It hit the rim and tottered in.
“From what I can tell, really old. There’s nothing special about it at first glance. The design is simple, but I’m going to give it a thorough exam this week. There’s something about it that’s different.”
“How so?”
Corin hesitated. Should he tell her? No. Why not? Because he didn’t want her thinking he was a whacko. He rubbed his fingers together where the tingling sensation had shot into his fingers and up his arm. He still couldn’t decide if he’d imagined the feeling.
He hadn’t known Tori long enough to predict how she’d react to his telling her an ancient chair provided by an enigmatic elderly lady was throwing off electric current.
“Maybe it was the way she looked at me. Or what she said. Might just be my imagination, but I think there’s an energy around that chair. I’ll probably have the thing dated to see exactly how old it is. I’m curious.”
“Energy from the chair? Are you going New Age on me?”
Corin shook his head. “I just want to find out more about it.”
“Is she trying to sell it on consignment?”
“No, it was clear she wanted me to keep it. She said I had been chosen to have the chair.”
“Doo doo doo doo—doo, doo doo doo.”
“Is that supposed to be the theme music from the Twilight Zone?”
“I knew you’d recognize it.” Tori thumped his forearm with the edge of her palm, fingers out. “Hey, changing gears, are you dead set on going this weekend?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to hold your fingers straight when you gave a karate chop.”
“It’s okay when it’s a sign of affection.” Tori smiled and reached for Corin’s milkshake. “So you’re set on going?”
“Yes, it’ll be a killer adrenaline rush.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing.” She looked at the table and chopped his arm again. “What time are we taking off on Friday?”
Corin waved his hand in the air as if to wipe away the question. “Who do you think is the greatest chair maker who ever lived?”
“I know what my slightly deranged parents would say.”
“Really?” Corin leaned forward. “Who?”
Tori took a drink of Corin’s milkshake, the chocolate staining her upper lip. “If we’re talking about the absolute greatest, the answer is pretty obvious.”
“And that would be?”
“Jesus.” Tori shrugged.
“Son of God, Jesus?” Corin laughed. “Wasn’t He more into the doing miracles thing and walking around from town to town with His band of merry men?”
“That’s Robin Hood.”
“Whatever.”
“He did the carpenter thing until He was thirty. So who says He didn’t make a bunch of tables and chairs?”
“So a chair is going to last for two thousand years?”
“I don’t know. You’re the expert on old furniture, Corin. You tell me. If it’s treated right the wood isn’t going to rot, is it? Plus He probably put some kind of spell or blessing or whatever on it.”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
“They say with God all things are possible.”
“I didn’t know you were into Christianity.”
“Are you kidding? I’m about as far away as you can get. But I grew up with my parents forcing me to go every Sunday. I gave it up the moment I headed off to college.” She took a last drink of his Oreo shake and stood. “I’m still spiritual, but I bailed on the church long ago.”
Corin creaked out of his seat, soreness already creeping into his quads. “Your reason?”
A darkness flashed over Tori’s face almost too quick to notice.
She shrugged. “Too much religion. Too narrow minded. Everyone else except Christians are going to hell because they weren’t born in the right country and weren’t raised that way? Nah, I can’t buy that. And I think Christians are way more excited to judge others for all their sins and tell them why they’re wrong than love them. You know, the typical reasons.”
She said the words with sincerity. But something about them rang false.
They stepped outside and eased back toward the dojo’s parking lot where their cars were parked.
Tori spread her hands and gazed at the sky. “I don’t think there’s a singular God. I think God is in all of us, so collectively the good in people makes up something I call God.” She gazed at him. “And you? Where are you at spiritually?”
“I definitely think there’s something bigger than us. Maybe God. I think there’s a force—”
Tori laughed. “Da duh, da da da da duh, duh duh duh, duhhhhh. Luke, I am your faaaather.”
“Just because I like Star Wars doesn’t mean I’m going all Lucas on you.” He joined her laughter and slid his arm around her shoulders.
<
br /> “I think it would be cool if you had a chair made by Jesus. You could start a cult. Pretend it gives people visions if they sit in it. Hey! Make them pay to sit in it to get their visions and make a few bucks. Or build duplicates, put them in the store and up on your Web site, and sell ’em.”
“So you’re still up for launching ourselves off that mountain this weekend?”
“Absolutely.” She stared at him from under her eyebrows. “Kind of.”
“Explain.”
“Just promise me you won’t go crazy on me again, okay?”
Was it that obvious? His penchant for buddying up to the Reaper? Probably. But he couldn’t stop it. Maybe he didn’t want to stop it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
She was right to worry. But he’d never admit that to her. He barely admitted it to himself.
CHAPTER 3
At nine o’clock the next evening, the sound of thunder ripped through Corin’s house, making him think once again they must have constructed his walls out of papier-mâché. The lamp on his workbench flickered. Welcome to late October in Colorado.
“No.” Corin shut his eyes. “I don’t need this. I want to get this piece finished.”
A second peal of thunder reverberated through the room, and the lights went out for half a second, then back on.
Corin yanked open a drawer and pulled out a flashlight.
If the power went out, it meant another delay in finishing the table and getting it on his sales floor.
He ran his hands over the top of the Top Swan carved end table. It was turning out beautiful. Researching the type of stain that had originally been used had taken days. Finding the stain took longer. In the end he had the stain custom made. But there was no point in restoring the piece to its almost-original condition. Exact was the only acceptable standard.
He plugged in his sander and fired it up. In a few minutes he’s have all the rough spots smoothed out on the final leg of the table. Corin glanced at the lights. Just give me power a little bit longer.
The lights flickered again.
Corin turned the sander on high and went to work on the leg. Three seconds later all the lights in his shop went out. Corin sighed, set his sander on his workbench, picked up the flashlight and turned to the door of his workshop. “What?” Dim light reached him from his kitchen. Oh no. The power hadn’t gone out. He’d blown a fuse.
The Chair Page 2