by June Faver
The girl blinked and turned away, scampering to join another child at one of the tables.
“That’s Reggie Lee Stafford’s daughter,” Betty Jo said. “Doesn’t she look just like her mom?”
“Wow. I’ll say. Like she was cloned.”
“I taught Reggie years ago. Such a lovely young woman.” Betty Jo sighed and went to see what the two little ones were doing.
When she returned, she took Gayle by the arm and steered her to another room. If the front room had been a living room, then this one must have been the dining room. There was a large sideboard built into the wall and framing a set of four casement windows.
This room also had tables and chairs, but these were a bit larger. And the children scattered around the room were a bit older but still quite young.
Gayle, who was not routinely around young children, gave herself a moment to draw a deep breath and expel it. Of course there are young kids at the preschool center. Duh!
“Hey, Gayle.” Jill Garland greeted her. She was in the room beyond that was quite a massive kitchen. There was an impressive industrial-looking setup with large chrome appliances and equipment. “I’m just bringing out snacks. Everything is on a timetable.” She had arranged what looked like lemon gelatin in paper cups with an assortment of fresh fruit on the side. Everything was on a serving trolley with little plastic utensils.
Betty Jo appeared and took charge of the trolley, rolling it to the front room to provide snacks for the young ones.
Jill picked up a tray and carried it to the room with the older children. “These children are the four- and five-year-olds, and Betty Jo has the two- and three-year-old kids.”
“Um, I thought five years was the age for kindergarten,” Gayle said.
“It all depends on their birthday. They have to be five by the time school starts, or they have to wait until the following year.”
Jill pointed to a small adult-size table and chair and placed a snack on top. “Take a seat and check out the gelatin.”
Children were scrambling to sit at the small tables, looking excitedly at the treats Jill was passing out.
Gayle sat down and examined the items before her. There was lemon gelatin in a cup, plus three apple slices, some seedless grapes, and half a banana. Feeling a bit self-conscious, she picked up the plastic spoon and scooped some gelatin into her mouth. She had not eaten much gelatin as a child. She never knew what to do with it. Did one chew it? Let it melt? Or perhaps squish it through one’s teeth? She managed to mash it up and swallow it before reaching for an apple slice.
Jill made the rounds again and offered her a cup of apple juice.
“Thanks. Uh, I have to ask… Why are the grapes cut in half?”
Jill chuckled. “To lessen the risk of choking. If they’re left whole, the child might choke trying to swallow it, but cut in half they taste the sweetness and chew them up.”
“Oh, there is so much about children that I don’t know.” Gayle shrugged. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have any.”
Jill patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure you will, in time. I haven’t found the man I want to spend my life with, so having my own kids is on the back burner for me too…for now.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Gayle shook her head. “Living in a small community, it’s kind of hard to find your true love.”
Jill tilted her head to one side. “Tell me about it. The boys I dated in high school were such fun dorks, but there was never a romance…and then I inherited my grandmother’s house.” She gestured to her surroundings. “I always loved this place and thought the community needed a good day care.”
“Well, you’ve made a great name for yourself. The community sure loves what you do.”
Jill smiled. “We try.”
“This is a lovely house,” Gayle said. “Didn’t you ever consider moving into it yourself?”
Jill looked around. “I have so many memories embedded in this home. My grandmother was a great influence on me. My parents worked, and she was my after-school day care.” Jill’s eyes teared up. “Gran always had a snack for me and a place to do my homework. And she would read to me as well.”
Gayle smiled, thinking what a sweet image sprang into her mind. “And so you want to include more after-school students?”
Jill nodded. “Yes, now that Miss Betty Jo has come on full-time, we can go ahead and offer the tutoring with a licensed teacher on board. I’m so thrilled to have her working with the children.”
“So, it’s just the two of you?”
“I hired another helper who will be coming after school. She is a high school senior and will be majoring in early childhood development when she graduates.”
“That sounds great.”
“She will actually be getting some college credits, so I’ll have to do some documentation too.” Jill was beaming.
“Sounds like a great plan,” Gayle said. “Would you like this story I’m writing to focus on the after-school care?”
“Yes, please. I’m only licensed to take care of a certain number of preschoolers, and we’re always at capacity. People come in and sign their kids up almost at birth.”
Gayle munched a grape half. “But you can take more school-age kids?”
“Yes, with Betty Jo’s credentials.” Jill spread her hands. “I’m perfectly content with the number of children we have in our day care, but as the daughter of working parents, I wanted to offer a safe after-school program to the working parents of Rambling.”
“It’s a great community,” Gayle said. “We’re so fortunate to live in this very close-knit town.”
Jill nodded. “I can’t imagine how anyone could leave…but two of my closest friends from high school moved far away. Do you remember Lori Holloway? She moved to New York City. She’s a children’s picture book author and perfectly at home in that monster big city.”
“Whoa!” Gayle considered the Lori she had not known well but admired from afar. “You and your friends worked on the school newspaper, didn’t you?”
Jill grinned. “Sure did. Reggie Lee and Lori took it to heart. I was just in it for the camaraderie. Loved hanging with my gal pals.”
“What were you into?” Gayle asked.
“I was a jock. I played basketball and ran track…and my girls came to cheer me on.”
Gayle considered how nice it would feel to have friends that close. She had been shy and a total introvert. “Must have been nice to have such good friends.”
“Reggie is still tight with me…and I call the others sometimes.” She shrugged. “It’s good to catch up.”
“Thank you for this opportunity to cover your story. I appreciate it.” Gayle gathered her tray and started to take it to the kitchen, but Jill took it from her.
“I thank you for coming here to see what we’re all about.”
Gayle took her leave and left the building, clutching her notebook and pen. It was only when she stood outside her car that she realized she had locked her purse and car keys inside.
She felt like a total idiot. Stamping her feet, she gritted her teeth and returned to the day care center.
Jill let her back in and gave her a hug. “Not to worry. Everyone has locked their keys in the car once or twice. Let me call my daddy.”
Gayle covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, no! Don’t bother the sheriff.”
Jill laughed. “My daddy is the one to call in situations like this. He’s the man.” Jill had a brief conversation with her father, and in a short time a tall, uniformed deputy rolled up in a cruiser, got out, and used a slim jim to open her car.
“Thank you,” Gayle said.
“No problem, ma’am.” He climbed back in his vehicle and drove away.
Gayle waved at Jill, who watched from the porch, and climbed into her own vehicle, grateful that she had been ass
igned to cover Jill’s story and hoped she would be able to do justice to the compassion Jill felt for the community.
That was the core of the story that Gayle wrote. She sat at her kitchen table and typed out the story she had developed. She reread it several times and tweaked it a little. When she realized she was grinning, she felt enormously satisfied. I can do this! But she decided that she would read it over again at work the next day before turning it in.
Fingers crossed.
* * *
The next afternoon, Reggie Lee was in her car, headed to the Grady estate with Milton Mayweather, the Gazette’s photographer, riding shotgun. Milton rode with the window open, looking for all intents and purposes like a big, shaggy dog with his face pointed into the wind. Milton’s longish hair and gray beard were blowing back. He wore his big shades and had a smile on his face. Perhaps he was looking forward to this assignment as much as she was.
Impossible.
Reggie realized that her own face was wearing a smile as well.
When she pulled up close to the Grady house, a shiver rolled down her spine. She recalled all her visits to Miss Rosie when she was in high school, and now, her incredibly handsome nephew was standing on the porch with his shirt off.
She swallowed hard and drew in a breath. A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Well, a joy to behold, even for the moment.
Frank Bell was, to put it mildly, ripped. He seemed to be hammering something at the top of one of the columns, and with each swing of the tool, an exquisite array of rippling muscles danced for her.
She had never actually seen such perfection firsthand. He was lean, but his musculature was well defined. She swallowed again, a swirl of pure lust raging low in her belly.
“Well, would you look at that?” Milton intoned. “Mr. Pretty Boy can swing a mean hammer.”
“Um, yeah. He sure can.”
Milton grabbed a couple of shots of Frank through the open window before he got out of the car.
Dayum! Pretty Boy is right. Reggie scrambled to open her door and follow Milton up to the house.
“Hey, folks,” Frank called, giving a wave with the hammer. “Come on up.”
When Reggie stepped onto the porch, she saw that Frank was standing on a step stool. “What are you doing?”
“I noticed almost all the columns and railings are loose. I was just hammering some shims in to steady them.” He stepped down and tossed the hammer in a toolbox before reaching for a faded T-shirt. He pulled it on over his head, giving another impressive display of dancing muscles. He raked his fingers through his hair and then gestured toward the door. “Let’s go inside. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure,” Milton said. “Whatcha got?”
Frank grinned. “I haven’t stocked the bar, but Aunt Rosie had quite a stash of sherry, and I made tea.” He ushered them through the front door.
“Geez!” Milton stared up the mahogany staircase, gazing at the stained-glass window at the landing. “Just look at this place.” He lifted his camera and took a series of shots. “Is it okay if I just look around first?”
“Knock yourself out,” Frank said. “Everything is just the way Aunt Rosie left it, except for the first room on the left upstairs. I’ve been staying in the room I had as a boy.” He turned to Reggie, and she felt a flush rise from her chest and crawl up her neck.
“I would love some tea,” she said hurriedly, hoping to divert his attention.
“Why don’t you have a seat in the parlor and I’ll bring it to you?” He gestured to Miss Rosie’s pretty front room, filled with velvet- and chintz-covered furniture, lace curtains, and bric-a-brac.
“Um, sure. I’ll just…wait in here.” She waved toward the room he indicated, feeling totally absurd. Watching Frank’s retreating form, she was acutely aware of the lean muscles striding away with an athletic gait. The worn T-shirt and faded denims displayed his assets to advantage. Oh, I’m in so much trouble here.
She sucked in a breath and blew it out forcefully. The house. I’m here for the house.
In the parlor, she gazed around at the room filled with lovely treasures. A tall étagère held a collection of music boxes. Reggie carefully opened one of the glass doors and picked up an intricate carousel with beautiful hand-painted horses. Unable to resist, she wound the stem and felt the sting of tears when the tinkling strains of “Clair de Lune” floated around her. It was so beautiful and so delicate. She clutched it, afraid she might break it.
“Do you like that?” Frank had come to stand in the doorway, gazing at her with interest.
“Oh, it’s lovely. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched it.” She started to put it back, but he set a tray on the small table and invited her to be seated on the curved chaise longue. “I brought that music box to Aunt Rosie from Brussels. She was really pleased, and that pleased me.”
She perched on the edge, still clutching the music box. She hadn’t expected him to bring hot tea, but he pulled up a chair across from her and set a delicate, eggshell-thin china cup on a matching saucer.
“How do you like your tea? I have milk, honey, and lemon.”
“Ooh,” she crooned. “I love a proper English tea. Milk and honey, please.” Reggie was aware she was grinning like a fool, but she couldn’t stop. Carefully, she set the music box on the table.
She watched as he poured tea from the fine bone-china teapot and added her favorite ingredients. His hands were large but well-shaped. She noted they looked as natural handing her a teacup on a delicate saucer as they had wielding a hammer.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Biscuit?” Frank offered a plate of shortbread cookies.
Reggie took one and placed it on the saucer. “This is very nice, Frank.”
“You’re very nice, Reggie.” His voice dropped to a lower register, and when she glanced up into his eyes, she was snared by the tenderness of his expression. He lifted his teacup and took a sip, still holding her in thrall.
Oh, no! I want him. I want Franklin Bell. I want to be naked with him. I want those strong arms around me. She hurriedly took a sip of her very hot tea and set the cup back in the saucer.
He smiled, and she felt lust coiling around her gut again. Just admitting to herself that she wanted him seemed to have unleashed her long-pent-up passions.
“How’s your tea? Did I get it right?”
She breathed out a sigh. “Perfect. It’s just perfect.”
“Well, what do you think?” His penetrating gaze had her off-kilter.
“About what?”
“The room. This was one of Aunt Rosie’s favorite places in the house. How would you propose we proceed with it?”
She glanced around, feeling inadequate. “It’s a lovely room.”
“But the wallpaper is faded, and there are a couple of places it’s pulling away at the seams.”
“Um, yes. I see.”
Truly, she had not noticed. Her attention had been firmly attached to the man sitting across from her. The man who used to be the bane of her existence. The man who was now trying to be her friend. The man she suddenly wanted to jump on.
“We can go shopping for new wallpaper,” she suggested.
“And I think most of the upholstered pieces have seen better days.”
“Yes, some of the fabric is worn in places, but they are still fine pieces. Perhaps you can have them reupholstered.”
“Sounds like a plan, but you have to help me choose the wallpaper and material. I don’t have an eye for this sort of thing.” He flashed a grin. “I mean, if you left it to me, I might install a big flat-screen television and haul in black-leather recliners.”
“Oh, no!” She sat up straight and then realized he was teasing her. Flashing a grin of her own, she laughed. “I don’t see black leather in this room.”
“Maybe we’ll have to
go to market and you can select the right colors to make this place pop.”
“That sounds wonderful. I would love to do that.” She thought perhaps he was thinking of the big Design Center in Dallas.
“Great! I’ll make travel arrangements. What about Shannon?”
“Not a problem,” she assured him. “Dad loves to watch her, and he can take her to day care when he’s at the store.”
Frank drained his cup and set it on the tray. “Then it’s settled. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” He sat across from her, beaming as though she had given him a great gift.
“Think nothing of it. I’m really excited about this project.” Reggie tried to tear her attention away from Frank’s magnetic gaze. She looked around the room and tried to memorize the patterns she saw there. “Oh, I just realized what this room is all about.”
Frank leaned toward her. “What?”
“This is the Rose Room, for your Aunt Rosie.”
A smile spread across his face. “Of course. She always said this was her favorite place in the house. She loved roses, and the grounds are covered with beautiful rosebushes. There are climbers on the gazebo in back.”
“Well, I hope you’re in agreement that this should stay the Rose Room. We can paint and paper and reupholster, but we have to maintain the essence of this room…for Miss Rosie.”
“Agreed.” He winked at her, sending her libido into orbit.
Reggie spent the next several hours going on a grand tour of the house. She had seen it before, but this time she was looking at it from the perspective of someone who would remodel it.
Milton had made his own tour, capturing a lot of “before” images to feed the ongoing story. He now sat in that same parlor Reggie and Frank had vacated, sampling Aunt Rosie’s sherry in a tiny cut-crystal cordial glass.
The tour had wound around the upper floor, with a quick peek in the attic, which was filled with even more antiques, mostly mahogany or cherry wood.
Somehow, walking around with Frank was even more intimate than sitting across from him. Several times, his arm had brushed hers as he reached around to open or close a door. And once, she collided with him when she turned too suddenly. He held her for a moment, staring into her eyes as he steadied her.
