by Lola Karns
Her words made so much sense, and not much had been making sense lately. “I’ll order something right away. I don’t sleep anymore.”
“And it shows. You look awful.”
She backed away as he stepped closer. “I miss you.”
“I’m leaving. I’ll probably see you later this week. At your work. To discuss a contract matter.”
He stopped her as she stepped onto the patio. “Your coat.”
He intended to help her into it, but she snatched it from his hands. Their gazes met as their fingers touched, her eyes reflecting his desire. His thumb drew lazy circles over her index finger. He hadn’t noticed the callous before. Her lips parted as her breath puffed into a cloud and warmed his face. Her eyelashes tickled his skin as he savored her mouth. She responded with a hunger he could taste.
A rumble rattled his throat. She managed to soothe and excite him at the same time. He ran his left hand up her arm and entwined her soft hair through his fingers. Her soft gasp broke something loose within him. He was happy and that strange feeling was all her fault. Something thumped – possibly a chair meeting the table.
Claire’s body tensed. She sprang back, away from him. She appeared dazed, blinking rapidly. Then, her eyes narrowed, and his reprieve vanished.
“Stop. It’s not just the trains. You aren’t the first guy to be put off by my passion for miniatures. You may like my physical self, but you think so little of me otherwise. No matter how good the roll in the hay, I have no tolerance for disrespect.”
“I don’t—”
“You’ve accused me of petty vandalism, and you have no interest in knowing me beyond the bedroom. Plus, you destroyed what little time I had for fun and games.”
“You’re—”
She raised a hand.
“You made this bed.” She snatched her coat from the back deck.
There was no point in responding. No matter what he said, she wouldn’t listen. She dashed off into the cold night air. Her kiss, still warm on his lips, grew bitter. The taste of goodbye made his stomach churn. Another sleepless night loomed before him.
Chapter 16
Even if she hadn’t brought the contract by his office, proving CJ’s ownership of the display, James would have gladly let Claire in to retrieve all the pieces taking up storage in his building. Anything else would have made his public relations nightmare even worse. She balked at his suggestion of calling in the media, even though he wanted to generate a bit of good press and balance the earlier negative images. In his office yesterday, she’d been all business. He couldn’t refuse her well thought out proposal, particularly when she phrased her request to collect the items after hours so as to not interfere with company’s normal workday.
At 5:30 pm, she rolled in as promised, parking a truck close to the lobby doors. Even though Walter volunteered to oversee the operations on the company’s behalf, James stayed. Several other people came in from the outside, water droplets clinging to coats and hats. Most of the men—although there were a few women—looked dry. He recognized them from around the office. He approached Claire.
“Mr. Fordham, you don’t need to be here.”
“I’m willing to help.”
“Only because he can’t wait to be rid of us train folk.” The voice came from an older man, one he recognized from photographs, but was neither Walter nor the Mayor.
“If we need you, I’ll let you know, but we have a great crew here.” Her gaze cast about the room. “We’ll start with the bases, load them into the van, and then George and Bob and a few volunteers will take those to the church and start organizing there. The rest of us will load up the big truck. And somewhere in there, we’ll have a few additional normal trucks delivering stuff as well. Walter will help cube out trucks. With this drizzle, we need everything covered up. Poppy and Kevin, you’re in charge of the tarps. Will Grant, you can assist them. Dylan Smythe, wave your arms–-thank you—and Ryan Culpepper who you all know, has offered to coordinate table lifting crews. There’s some good food waiting at the end, so let’s get to it.”
The crowd of volunteers swarmed around him like ants. James backed into a spot behind the security desk. Although it kept him out of the way of people wielding boxes, and carts, and tarps, the desk failed to protect him from the dirty looks. He responded to email and read the news, but so far as he could tell, every time Claire entered the room, she drew his attention like a magnet. Being dismissed from helping, all he could do was enjoy the view of her slender but strong bare arms and the sway of her hips.
After forty-five minutes and the departure of a large truck and half the people, she approached him. “We’re missing a few boxes and one of our display tables. Any ideas where they might be?”
“Wouldn’t Walter know?” His tone was as testy as hers had been earlier, but his heart wasn’t in it. She looked radiant. Her dewy skin and damp tendrils worked free from her ponytail and reminded him of the night they’d spent getting sweaty.
“He thought you might have a key to the remaining closet.”
“Here.” He extended the key ring.
“No display, no keys for me. Are you coming or not?” The question purred out with an invitation he couldn’t ignore. She had him by the short hairs and she knew it.
She led him down the corridor where he once waited to be introduced as the company leader. Some leader he turned out to be. He’d alienated not only the employees, but the community and the one woman who he wanted to get to know better. They walked in silence until reaching a scratched up blue door.
“This one.”
As he fumbled with the keys, she leaned in closer. Her scent filled his nostrils in a most pleasant and distracting way.
“Any luck with the security camera?”
He stopped, turning to look at her directly. When her gaze dipped to the doorknob, he understood her silent message. He tested key after key, all while keeping a finger on the correct one. This was as private a conversation as they would be allowed to have.
“I assumed no-one in town would sell to me even if they had one, so I had one camera delivered to the office today and a second should be waiting at the house.”
“Two?”
“If the home delivery hasn’t been stolen from the porch. I wanted a back-up. Besides, I can have one on the porch and one on the driveway.”
“Good. I hope you’ll—”
They heard noise from down the hall. “Find the key, now.”
With a flourish, he announced, “At last.”
She flipped on the light switch and entered the narrow closet. Before him stood a large gingerbread house on a low table, complete with sparkly faux snow. It was nearly half his height. It looked like something from the department store windows he remembered as a kid. His mom took him to see Santa one year and there’d been a whole room filled with decorations like this and a house big enough to walk through. He wanted to throw the play snow around and crawl in the house, but his mom kept pulling him away, admonishing him not to mess up his clothes before the picture. The line took forever, and she swore she wouldn’t do that again. They never did. There had been a train, but it didn’t move. It sat among dolls, toy guns, and board games, all available for purchase, he presumed. Nothing like that awaited him Christmas morning.
“Found it!” Claire’s shout reverberated in the closet. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but Mr. Fordham and I should be able to push it through the door.”
“I’ll hold the door.” James didn’t recognize the voice. His fingers itched to touch the house. He knew the snow wouldn’t be cold, but somehow, it seemed so real and tempting.
Claire groaned.
“Something wrong?”
Her mouth was twisted in a scowl, so something was. “I forgot how much work this piece needed. I should have been more insistent that it go to my workshop and not into storage.”
He eyed her and shook his head slowly. “It looks great. Like a fairy tale or Macy’s.”
“It’s dus
ty, the roof is chipped, and I don’t like those brown pellets near the lower left corner. I hope mice didn’t get in here and nibble away a structural support.” She got on her hands and knees to inspect, pulling a small pen-light and a pencil out of one of her myriad pockets. Crawling under the table, she contorted her body. The flashlight held with her teeth, contorted her mouth to a sneer.
“Can I hold something?”
“Mnro” She scribbled something then stood up, careful not to hit her head on the underside of the table. She assessed him from head to toe and back again. Gazes locked, she asked “You don’t mind getting your nice clothes dirty, do you? Cover your ears.”
He obeyed.
“Hey Dylan, can you get another set of hands to help? And some sliders?” Even with his ears covered, he winced at the volume.
“Hold this.” She handed him a small hammer. “And this. And this.” He tucked the hammer under his elbow and grabbed a small stack of wood, a roll of duct tape and a binder clip.
He was the nurse to her TV surgeon. She asked, he gave. His arm scraped the side of the house. The snow tugged against his arm hair and was decidedly unfluffy, but he did as asked.
“Got it.” She stood on the far side of the table and dipped her gaze to his arms, pressed firmly against his side. The left side of her mouth drew up. “You could have rested the tools on the table.”
“I didn’t want to mess it up.”
She chuckled and extended her hand. “Here. One at a time.”
“Where did all of this come from?”
“My pockets. I’m a big fan of cargo pants and tool belts. That way I can access whatever tools I need quickly and keep my hands free for work. The tape is awkward, but I won’t need it after tonight.”
“We’re back.” The hall person shouted, but James couldn’t look away as Claire shimmied the tools into her pockets. Even her efficiency turned him on.
He joined the others in carefully lifting the house onto a set of castors. As directed, he continued to support the weakened corner as they rolled the house down the hall to a flatbed truck waiting outside. As she deftly maneuvered a tarp into place, he read the worry on her face. He thought about all the pieces he’d seen move through the lobby, all the boxes, crates and loose pieces.
The magnitude of the move hit him. These little trains took up way more space that he would have guessed from the photographs in Walter’s office. No wonder they drew in the crowds much like department store windows. But the department stores sold more goods with increased foot traffic. Adena didn’t. If Adena owned the trains, they would be a valuable asset. He pulled a few Tums from his pocket. Fruit flavored for variety. If he sold Adena to that Texas-based company who wanted the plant only, and even if he didn’t, CJ’s Hobbies needed to store the pieces somewhere in the future, hopefully a spot where they wouldn’t suffer any more damage. He’d done enough to upset Claire for one lifetime.
SINCE WALTER OFFERED to collect any stray boxes from Adena headquarters, Claire allowed herself the luxury of dinner. No matter how delicious Kay O’Meara’s barbequed chicken legs were, she had too much work to justify an hour digging sauce and spices out of her cuticles. She scooped a small serving of overbaked ziti onto her plate instead.
“Jo sent chili.” Dylan had slipped beside her at some point.
“Thank goodness. As much as I love funeral potatoes and pasta salad, I need something besides carbs if I hope to get anything done tonight.”
He chuckled. “She warned me these buffets tend toward the carb heavy comfort food and she wasn’t kidding. When I went to pick up Kevin, her house smelled so good. Her chili is off the charts.”
“I miss her cooking whenever I travel. I miss her even more though. Her and Kevin.” She accepted the cheesy, potato goodness Dylan offered. When he put the spoon down, his brows furrowed.
“You’re her best friend, can I ask you something?” He nodded his head away from the crowd.
“Sure.” They wandered toward a quieter spot along the wall. “What’s on your mind?”
“I have until tomorrow to put in requests for next quarter, and I love working with Kevin, but, maybe...”
Claire glanced up from her plate. Beneath the lumberjack biker beard, Dylan’s face was bright red. She followed his gaze to the floor, where his left foot twisted back and forth.
“You like her.”
“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Kevin, too.”
She didn’t want to betray what her friend told her in confidence, but Dylan seemed to need a little reassurance.
“Kevin told me you are the bestest therapist ever so I’m sure Jo would request you again, but she has some strict ideas about ethics, lines between employer-employee, medical practitioner-patient. I also know that she and Kevin both laugh more when you’re around and look forward to your visits. I suspect that would hold true even if you weren’t coming out here as a class assignment. I know how much she appreciated your bringing Kevin tonight. She doesn’t get much time to herself.”
“Do you think she’d be mad if she found out I put in for a change?” His cheeks were more pink than red as his smile reached to his eyes.”
“Of course.” She smiled as Dylan’s eyes widened. “But Kevin can hang out with me while you convince Jo change is for the best. After the display opens, you should come see it fully assembled. Jo and Kevin can point out some of the special details.” She had already made a miniature Dylan. He was going to be one of three figures on Jo’s watermelon porch swing. They made a wonderful future family.
AS THE EMPTY CASSEROLE dishes piled up, her helpers began begging off work. She understood their reasons. It was getting late for the shift workers who started at five the next morning and she was fairly sure Bob was up past his bedtime. His head dipped to his chest a few times as he sat in a folding chair and supposedly ticked off the inventory list.
“Go home, Bob. We won’t start the wiring without you, but I think I have some repair first.”
Soon, only George and Walter remained with her.
“Time to go. Most of the tables are in the right spot. Should be good enough.” Walter popped an unlit cigar in his mouth, a sure sign he was done for the day.
“I want to finish my damage report so I can get repair materials in order.”
“About that. Don’t spend too much ordering supplies. Money isn’t coming in as fast as we’d hoped.”
“Even with Operation Ticket?” She feigned surprise when George shook his head.
Walter rested a hand on her shoulder, like her Grandfather always did when bearing bad news. “We may have to charge admission.”
“No!” She whirled out of his reach and stomped her foot. “Grandpa wouldn’t have allowed it, and neither will I.” She took in the display coalescing in the cavernous church basement. The whole undertaking was expensive, relocation, repair, additional safety, electricity, signage to direct to the new location. Her personal budget had some wiggle room, but lawyer fees and quarterly taxes were coming up. She could afford another contribution.
“I’ll donate more—”
“You paid for the truck, and I know you’ll pay for repairs even if we tell you not to, but Claire, you’re already donating your time.” George wore his serious face, all laughter gone from his eyes.
“Look, kiddo, your time and talent are more than we could ever afford; you don’t need to keep donating money, too. Not when there are other options to cover the electric bills. We can cut back hours – evenings and weekends only.”
“We never have many visitors early in the week.” George had a point. She could make use of that extra time to go through the house. Maybe she’d find some treasures for Beverly to sell.
“Okay. If we can change the location, we can change the time, so long as Walter hasn’t ordered advertising.” Her shoulders relaxed and she crossed her arms.
“Nope. My daughter-in-law said she only needs twenty-four-hour advance notice at the print shop and I haven’t contacted the
media yet.”
“I suggest Wednesday through Sunday, three to eight weekdays, nine to eight weekends. If that’s agreeable, I’ll spread the word to the police to get extra security.
“May as well have us stay open until nine. I’ll be up.” She’d be up past midnight, but even one hour added expense. “I guess we could set up a donation box. I worry it will cut into the other collections.
Walter considered her suggestion. “If we write a suggested donation to keep the trains running, maybe folks will be more likely to pay.”
“Maybe we can charge for parking instead.” George offered. “Clem might have tolerated that.”
“Someone would have to stand in the cold and collect it.” Walter chewed his cigar so ferociously, it had to be too soggy to smoke by now.
“Well forget that. I’ll keep thinking. It’s getting late. Dinah’s either worried that I’m not home or fast asleep. We should get going.”
“Goodnight George, Goodnight Walter.” She gave them each a hug, taking in the scent of barn and smoke respectively. The only thing missing from the comfort trifecta was Clem’s motor oil.
“Don’t stay up too late, kiddo.”
“I won’t,” she lied. With only a week until opening, she needed to get the adhesive work going immediately.
Chapter 17
Claire and Bob spent the Wednesday before Thanksgiving touching up paint and alternating between freezing cold from an open door and warm but wearing face masks because of the smelly air. With less than forty-eight hours until opening, every minute counted. Walter helped for a few hours after work, but Bob left at dinner time. When Sandy came by to pick Walter up so he had time to take his pills before bed, she brought an air cleaner.