“I’ll never marry again,” she said flatly, folding the tablecloth and tucking it into the basket.
His brows winged up. “Oh? I thought you told Leda that you might have changed your mind about that.”
So he’d noticed her comment, had he?
“About letting a man into my life. Not about marriage.”
He nodded, as if that made sense to him. His hand reached for her arm, stopping before it met its mark. “Yes, a woman like you wouldn’t want to be contained.”
And the anger that had stayed with her, the hot lick of it, dried up like ash and drifted away.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope. “Your pay for the day. Thank you. If you are willing, I have another tasting set up for Wednesday afternoon, at the same time.”
“Yes, I quite enjoyed myself. Brock is a bit of a stuffed shirt, poor man, but the other fellow is pleasant.” She lifted a finger. “Although not my kind of man, if you were wondering.”
“I’m glad,” he said, and she thought he was speaking of both things. Both of her interest in continuing the tastings and her disinterest in Drew.
He handed the envelope over, and she took it, their fingers overlapping for the sparest of seconds, the heat that radiated through her reminding her it had been much too long since she’d been touched by a man, especially one she wanted to do the touching.
The envelope was a reminder that she was here as an employee, of sorts, and that their association was a professional one. Of course, she was never one who’d felt beholden to boundaries, and for a man who set up shop in a dust factory and was at least a partial grump, he didn’t seem too fussed by them either.
She noticed Mara had returned to the edge of the table, her expression both crestfallen and anxious.
She took that to mean she wasn’t wrong in noting an edge of flirtation in her interactions with Beau. This man who had shunned people since his wife’s death had taken an interest in her.
“Thank you,” she said, pocketing the envelope. “You’d better get back to your office. That other man, Brock, doesn’t seem like the patient sort.”
He grinned at her. “The only time it’s acceptable to be late is when you have people on the hook. If you act disinterested, it may make them more eager to close a deal.”
She met his eyes. “Perhaps that’s true of most people, Beau Buchanan. But I am not most people.”
“No, Dottie,” he said, and this time he did put his hand on her arm, giving it a small squeeze she felt down to her toes. “No one would ever accuse you of that.”
It wasn’t until she reached her car, toting the picnic basket into the front seat, that she checked the envelope. A short note was tucked inside, behind the crisp bills. This is my phone number, Dottie, although I’m sure you would have gathered as much without being told. Please feel free to contact me, for reasons professional or personal. I found it difficult to stop thinking about you this weekend. If my attentions are unwelcome, please do not worry about wounding my feelings. I’ve been around long enough that they have a Teflon coating.
A smile spread across Dottie’s face as she looked out the windshield and noticed a cloud drifting by, the shape distinctly a heart.
“You do for now, Beau. But that won’t last long. Teflon can be scraped off.”
And she was beginning to think she had a mind to try.
When she got home, Doris and River were nowhere to be seen, until she caught sight of them in the construction lot with Leonard. The other members of the team had left for the day, and River was sitting in the driver’s seat of the mini excavator, his eyes huge with excitement. Leonard stood beside him, ready to intervene if it was needed.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Doris said, hurrying up to the fence to let Dottie in. “Leonard offered, and River was so excited.”
“I’m thrilled,” Dottie said. “Anything to put that look on his face.”
River waved to her and shouted, “Aunt Dottie, I’m on an excavator!”
“So I see,” she called back. Turning back to Doris, she asked, “How did the commas and such go?”
Some of the joy leaked off Doris’s face. “I’m not sure what level he should be at, but I get the impression he’s behind. Maybe seriously behind. He’s smart, though. Really smart.”
Didn’t she know it. She thought again of what Beau had said to her earlier. He couldn’t have known how often she’d considered doing just what he’d suggested. Reporting her niece to child services. And maybe she should. Maybe it was a risk she ought to take.
But she’d lost so much. Her mother. Delia. And the thought of losing him too… That wasn’t a hurt she could recover from.
Nor could she bear the weight of breaking his heart by taking him from the only mother he’d ever known.
“Thank you for your honesty,” she said. “I suppose I’m not surprised to hear it.”
“And I wanted you to know that Alli wrote me back.” Doris had told her earlier that she’d reached out to her sister, as she’d suggested, and proffered an invitation. “So I have something else to thank you for, Dottie. She’s coming to visit. It won’t be for a couple of months, but I can’t tell you how relieved I feel.”
“Wonderful! We’ll have to throw another party.”
Doris gave her a look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It sounds like the last one ended with attempted murder.”
“I think it was more of a dramatic gesture than a murder attempt.”
“Still. I saw that crystal. It could have seriously maimed him.”
Dottie shrugged, because she wasn’t wrong. “It was unfortunate. But Leda won’t be there, and it’s highly unlikely Kate will be either.”
“We’ll see. How did the tasting with Beau go?”
“It went well, I think.” And she told her about the note in the envelope.
At some point in her recitation, Leonard came over with River, one arm around his shoulders, a much too large hardhat perched on River’s head. “Why don’t you ask him if he’d like to see you tonight?” he suggested. “Not to be presumptuous, but Doris and I are going to make dinner tonight at her house. We would love to have River join us.”
Doris beamed at him. “Yes, we would. It’s been a delightful afternoon.”
“Can I go with them, Aunt Dottie?”
The sight of him, so small, in that hat that wouldn’t fit him for several years, tugged at her heart. She didn’t want to miss a minute of his visit, not when she didn’t know when he would be back. Usually, it was several times a year. Once, Kate had left him with her for a month and a half. A delicious stretch of time that had only been dampened by the worry on River’s face, by the way she saw him praying each night for his mother’s safety, for her to return to him.
Old Beau hadn’t liked it when he’d stayed. Yet another mark against him. But he’d known better than to say so out loud, either in her hearing or in River’s.
Still. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to get to know Beau. To learn more about the man who’d been so generous with his time and attention with her nephew. Who’d made those delicious sodas and beers. Who’d been so successful but had lost his family along the way.
Something told her the raw, beating heart of Beau Buchanan was something that she wanted to know. To hold in her hands.
So she smiled and ruffled her nephew’s hair. “Yes, dear.” If Beau was busy tonight, or if he didn’t answer his phone, she’d join them. Goodness knew there were plenty of “joyful” petits-fours left to add to whatever they’d made for dinner.
“Let me just run over to the house to call him.”
She did. Taking in the sight of River’s painting, which she’d propped over the fireplace, and a pair of his shoes, scattered by the couch. It had felt like home before, but having him here…it changed it. It made it feel more like a place where she wanted to stay forever.
The phone rang twice before it was answered. A hiccup sounded over the receiver, and a familiar voice, no
t Beau’s, said, “Buchanan residence. Sad loser speaking.”
“Luke, is that you?”
“How did you know?” he asked with suspicion. Then, his voice softening, he said, “Dottie?”
“Yes, my friend. I’m sorry for your troubles. Are you keeping well?”
“Beau has a lot of beer here, Dottie. It’s not so bad. We’re going to brew something together for Buchanan, but Beau says we have to wait until tomorrow, when I’m sober. I’m going to bed now.”
It wasn’t yet six p.m., but nonetheless, that seemed like a wise idea. The best cure for heartbreak was not so different from the cure for a cold: plenty of rest, and lots of liquids. He seemed to have the latter covered.
“That sounds like an excellent plan, and please drink that tonic that I sent home with Beau. It may smell like mushrooms and taste a little ripe, but I assure you it is quite effective.”
It was unfortunate she hadn’t made one of her hangover cures for him.
“Is Beau there? There was something I wished to discuss with him.”
“Yes. Give me a minute.”
The other line was silent for so long, she thought he’d hung up, but then Beau picked it up.
“Dottie, I was hoping you would call tonight.”
“Thank you for your note,” she said, twirling the cord around her finger like she had as a girl. Goodness, Beau was doing all kinds of strange things to her. “I’m contacting you for personal reasons. Would you like to have dinner with me this evening? Doris and Leonard have graciously invited River to join them.”
He chuckled at that. “That was a successful match. Maybe Luke can be your next project.”
Somewhere in the background, she heard a wail. At first, she thought it might be a cry of sorrow in reaction to Beau’s words, but then Beau’s chuckle was back.
“What was in that tonic you gave him? He sounds like a cat with its tail on fire.”
“Goodness, I hope you don’t know what that sounds like from experience. I’m quite fond of animals.”
“So am I,” he said with a grin in his voice, “but every cat I adopt seems to enjoy causing trouble. Says something about me, I guess.”
“It says you value those who have an independent spirit.” Something she considered to be another good sign. “So?”
“Yes to dinner, but I’d like to make it. Can I pick you up at seven?”
Imagine that, a man cooking dinner. She’d lived with Old Beau for thirty years, and he’d never once made her a meal. She was fairly certain he didn’t know what a spatula was. It was the way she’d been raised, and she liked being in the kitchen—indeed, it was where she gravitated to when she was kept awake by her occasional bouts of insomnia—but still, what a delightful novelty.
For once, she could let someone take care of her, rather than the other way around.
“Yes,” she said, “I’d like that.”
“So would I, Dottie. I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to something, before I met you. Now, I can’t seem to stop.”
“So don’t.”
Chapter Ten
True to his word, Beau was punctual; he arrived at seven on the dot. River had insisted on seeing Dottie off, and he made a great production of throwing homemade confetti after her as she headed toward the car, Doris and Leonard waving behind him.
Laughing, Dottie climbed into the passenger seat, carrying a box with her.
“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Beau asked, nodding to the box. He looked handsome this evening, dressed in a long-sleeved dark shirt with buttons at the neck and light pants. Of course, she’d thought him handsome from the first. He was regarding her with the same open admiration and longing as earlier, and she felt a little glow inside, knowing she was appreciated as a woman.
“I assure you, I have no idea what you mean.”
He angled a smile at her as he pulled onto the road. “I’m reasonably certain there’s food in that box.”
“And if there is?” she asked playfully.
“Then I’ll be an even happier man.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day, Beau Buchanan.”
“I reckon it is.” He snuck a glance at her. “And not just because I made a big sale this afternoon.”
“Ah, so Brock was all talk. He liked our presentation.”
He let out a low chuckle. “No, he most certainly did not, but he’s not the sort of fellow who likes much, and certainly nothing out of the ordinary. But his friend is likely still singing your praises. And they both liked my beer.”
“That is something to celebrate,” she said, watching as they passed several buildings. Suddenly, it occurred to her that Luke was at Beau’s house, and if they went there they wouldn’t have any privacy. Or at least not complete privacy. If Luke had finished her tonic, he probably wouldn’t be able to carry on a rational conversation for very long. It mellowed people so completely they usually fell straight to sleep. “Are we going to your house?”
“No.” He darted a glance at her. “Luke’s there, and I was hoping we could have some time alone together to get better acquainted.” A smile danced on his lips. “I thought we could have a picnic at an overlook I favor. You gave me the idea earlier with your picnic basket. There should be another couple of hours before sunset.”
Dottie clapped her hands together once, feeling a soaring sensation. Outdoor picnics. Parties. Impromptu nighttime painting sessions with her nephew. Yes, this new life of hers suited her. If only she’d known to bring one of her canvases, she could have painted the view. Or maybe the man soaking it in beside her. “A picnic, how lovely. There’s nothing I like better than sitting in nature.”
“I find there’s a lot of things you like, Dottie,” he said. “And even more to like about you. I wouldn’t say the same about a lot of people.”
“Then you must be surrounding yourself with the wrong sort, other than poor Luke, of course. He’s a dear man.”
“To hear you tell it, everyone’s a dear,” he said, sneaking another glance.
“Most people are, when you really get down to it.” She studied his profile. The dips and grooves in a face that had seen enough years to make it, and its owner, truly interesting. “We all have our scars, of course, and our sore points, but there aren’t a lot of truly bad people.”
He let out a sound that made it clear he disagreed. “I wish I believed that, but evidence suggests that my own son is one of the bad ones.”
“Because of the trouble he’s putting you through.” He’d been vague about it before, but he was different tonight, like something within him, long guarded and closed off, had cracked open.
“It started long before that. We had an argument before he left home, and he took his mother’s family jewelry. She was going to leave it to him in her will, but he ran off with it in the night like a thief. Then he pawned it. Hundreds of years of history, gone. He likes to talk big about being a self-made man, but I paid for his college education, and his mother paid for his start-up costs. You won’t hear him talking about that in any of his speeches.”
She clucked her tongue. “Young people don’t understand the pull of history. They’re too busy trying to make waves of their own. But I am sorry, that must have been difficult for you both.”
“She was sick at the time, but he did it anyway. And now…the hardest part, besides not getting to see my grandchildren very often, is knowing how much this would have hurt Gail,” he said, turning onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. She was so attuned to his words, his energy, she’d barely registered where they were going. “She tried her best with that boy, but he’s always been selfish. My fault, probably. I worked more than I should have when he was young, and I tried to make it up by giving him things. But it was never enough, and he came away thinking that money was the only thing that mattered.”
“Maybe he can still learn.” She thought of Kate, and of her dwindling hopes that her niece might one day value her son more than her supposed freedom. Because Dottie sought f
reedom as surely as Kate did, and if she knew anything, it was that real love allowed a person to be more themselves rather than less. “We all have the chance to learn, right up until our dying day.”
“We have the chance, yes,” he said with a little shrug. “But there needs to be a will for there to be a way. The boy’s wife is a good woman. Loving and kind. And he doesn’t appreciate her.”
She remembered what he’d said about his fourth grandson, the one who wasn’t acknowledged. Sadness seeped from him, and she realized it had never been far from the surface.
“Wouldn’t you know it…” His mouth had a rueful twist. “I still love my son. I guess that’s my cross to bear.”
“It’s the same way with Kate. To me, she’ll always be the little girl I taught to make necklaces.” As he pulled past trees, their leaves a profusion of greenery in different colors, she admitted, “But she’s not, and I know it.”
Beau was parking the car now, and the view that peeked out through the trees set her heart racing. She was grateful he’d shared his burdens with her—keeping such things inside was bad for the digestion—but at the same time she wanted this moment to be about them and this new connection they were forming. There was magic in new beginnings, and this evening sparkled with it.
He came around and opened her door, holding out a hand to help her out.
“Thank you.” She took it and savored the feeling of his strong fingers clasped around hers as she shifted the box with their dessert to her other hand. Those hands made things, just like hers did, although they’d sought out very different forms of expression. She liked the thought of being with a man like that. Old Beau was a paper pusher at a bank, always talking about numbers and telling her she had no notion of how they worked.
All the Luck You Need (Asheville Brewing) Page 7