The sexy woman gave the dresser one last push, then scooted around to see how it looked. The color drained swiftly from Justin’s face, as well as from his other interested parts. The woman was that Tara girl.
He’d only seen her in shorts and ponytail, covered in sawdust and grime. He could barely register that she now gushed sophistication and sex appeal. He squinted and surveyed her closer through the window. She must be almost thirty!
Tara looked up and jumped, her hand flying to her chest. She straightened her shoulders in disdain and scowled.
Feeling like a stalker, Justin reached to open the door. As the bells overhead jingled, Tara tossed him a nasty glare, her lips a grim line.
He raised a hand. “Hi Tara.”
A dark scowl came over her countenance, forcing Justin to cram his hands into his pants pockets. The women in this town had him at a total loss. He’d never felt more like an ignorant schoolboy. Usually he was able to peg a woman’s age, personality, assets, and issues, from a hundred paces. He’d always handled women well, or so he thought.
Discomfort rumbled with the eggs in his stomach. He could see that Tara belonged in a store like this. Pieces and parts of the worn-out town were assembled into modern vintage art, similar to the way the tired, dusty girl he’d met was now a polished gem of a woman. He’d underestimated her miserably. A frog took up residence his throat. “Do – do you work here?”
Tara sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “You could say that.”
A middle-aged woman carrying a tall armload of wood crates struggled to maneuver past the back counter. “Tara, honey, could you give me a hand with these?”
Justin reached out to take the top two crates. The woman flushed, her mouth gaping open. “Oh, my goodness!” She balanced the remaining crates on the counter, glancing from Tara to Justin and back again. Her gaze rested on his shoes for a moment too long, then rose to his face. “You must be Justin. I’d heard we had a new young man in town.” She waggled her eyebrows and winked at Tara, then continued; “I’m Becky, and I have to admit…” she fluffed her bun, “no one told me how handsome you are.” Becky’s eyelashes fluttered on bright-blue eye shadow. Her jewelry clanked and jingled as she extended a hand toward Justin. He shook it and was a bit taken aback when he had to pull to release her grip.
Tara turned away.
Justin recognized Becky’s jewelry as being similar to the bracelets Tara wore. A display of them stood on the counter. Becky must make it, wear it, and sell it, he reasoned.
Tara disappeared behind the counter and the back door of the shop slammed. Becky jumped at the noise and giggled.
Justin regrouped, confident he could at least understand Becky. He ran his hand appreciatively over a recycled table, as if petting Becky personally. “How long has Tara worked here?”
“Oh honey, you got it all wrong.” She placed one glittering hand on Justin’s chest, her fingers caressing the top button of his shirt. “Tara opened this shop years ago, before she—”
Tara stepped suddenly from behind Becky, blocking her access to Justin’s buttons. “What can we do for you today, Mister— what was your last name?”
He thought Tara had left the shop.
Becky appeared to think the situation was amusing.
Irritation flashed across Justin’s face. He’d finally met a woman who responded to him in a normal-ish manner and Tara had not only jerked him back into the local agenda, but she was so cold she wouldn’t even use his first name.
What is her problem, he couldn’t help but wonder, scrubbing his hand across his scalp. She is beautiful, even with that scowl. He sighed. No, what is my problem? He didn’t want to respond to Tara, not with her bad attitude. He didn’t like or need spiteful women, and he’d learned that lesson the hard way. Blandly, he waved his hand toward the front of the store. “I’m just out for a walk, had breakfast at the café...”
Becky’s last comment finally registered, and he turned to Tara in surprise. “You own this shop? I mean— not that I’m surprised— I’m impressed.” It was a lame attempt to correct his lack of tact and he knew it. And from the look on Tara’s face, he didn’t stand a chance.
“Mind if I look around?” he asked Becky.
Tara turned her back.
“Take all the time you need!” Becky sprang around Tara. “Anything special you’re looking for today?”
He sauntered toward a vintage living room setting containing mid-century Danish furniture, watching Tara leave from the corner of his eye. He usually did his own design work; some said he had an eagle eye for cutting-edge furnishings and artwork. The smooth, minimalist varnish style of the Danish furniture was very chic right now. “Only everything,” he said. “I just moved here, and I didn’t bring much with me.”
To him, the shop was crammed with what could mostly be described as junk, crowded among larger pieces of crap. He had to admit that most of the crazy stuff had been turned into interesting pieces of art, but it was not to his taste.
Though he could appreciate the place, it was too crowded and too shabby. Most of the rusty antiques and vintage items, no matter how well reworked, held absolutely no appeal for him. His mother had owned one overstuffed, plaid sofa his entire childhood, and he had no fondness for worn things. He wanted to surround himself with contemporary furnishings that represented the taste and the refinement he’d thirsted for growing up.
“I’m leaving now, Becky, see you tomorrow!” Tara’s voice called from somewhere in the back of the shop.
“Bye, dear!” Becky waved absently.
“Who does all this?” Justin asked, overwhelmed by the sheer number of items crowding the shop.
Becky followed his line of sight to a wood headboard that had been decoupaged with torn book pages. “Well, Tara loves her junk,” she began. “Myself, I love the 50s and 60s stuff, like this.” She glided her hand along a sleek, rounded sideboard with inlaid veneer. “I love to find a piece with good lines and a fresh appeal, and buff it up.” Becky clucked and winked boldly at Justin. “But Tara is another animal altogether.” Her ringed fingers waved toward a dinette set with mismatched wooden chairs. “She craves tables with no legs and dressers with missing drawers.”
“Missing drawers? What good is that?”
“Over here, dear,” Becky answered, weaving her way among furniture and old signs to the far wall. She pointed to an antique dresser with a curved bow front and scroll legs. It had been painted and then sanded afterward, from the looks of it. The top was missing and had been replaced with a smooth piece of marble. An antique, rose-pattern china bowl on top was now a sink basin with new vintage-replica faucets. The missing bottom drawer had been replaced with a shelf and was filled with rolled towels. A dainty soap dish, candle, and hand towel topped off the vanity. The effect was the charm of an old country hotel with a decidedly modern twist.
It seemed ridiculous to Justin. An old ratty piece of bedroom furniture had been torn apart and put back together to accommodate running water in modern bathrooms. Indoor plumbing hadn’t even been invented when that dresser was made, yet— the old-world charm of the piece was undeniable. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”
He turned and bumped his shoulder against a set of bedsprings turned up on end against the wall. He’d seen rusty sets of spring tossed into alleys as kid, but he’d never seen a set spray painted hot pink and tied with ribbons and lace. The old coil springs were stuffed with wine bottles, top end first. “How does she come up with this stuff?”
“It’s part of Tara’s charm, honey,” Becky said. “She sees the beauty in things most of us overlook as trash. The things she drags in here, I tell you. I don’t have her vision. But then most don’t.”
“Does she live around here?”
“Well, sure, she’s lived in that old house on the corner of Main and Second since she was six,” Becky blurted before thinking.
Justin nodded, then realized that was the real estate office. “But that’s an office.�
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“She and Winnie live upstairs,” Becky muttered, biting her lip at having given away more than she’d intended.
Justin cocked his head. He hadn’t noticed an additional outside entrance or apartment numbers. “Is Winnie her grandmother?”
Becky hesitated. She didn’t want Tara upset with her. “Winnie is everyone’s grandma. Now about this living room set...” She took Justin’s hand in both of hers and led him back across the shop.
Forty-five minutes later, Justin was paying for his new living room furniture, as well as a platform bedroom set and a clear-resin dining table and chairs. Becky promised they’d be delivered later that evening as she waved him down the street, with one bejeweled hand resting on her chest.
* * *
Tara stomped though the front door of the real estate office. That man! She didn’t know why his continual underestimation of her abilities was such an irritation. She usually didn’t care what people thought of her. More than anything, though, she wanted to know what he was up to!
Winnie came in carrying a stack of files. “You’re ruffled, what happened?”
Tara took the heavy stack of folders and set them on the desk. “That Justin guy came into the shop.” She paced across the room and back. “He rubs me the wrong way. I don’t trust him.” Biting her bottom lip, she sat on the corner of the desk and twisted her bracelet.
“Puffing up like an angry rooster every time you see him isn’t going to help, dear.” Winnie patted Tara’s shoulder. “You catch more flies—”
“Oh please!” Tara snapped, shrugging off Winnie’s hand indignantly. “I don’t want his honey!”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Tara froze at the hurt look on the old woman’s face. She took a step toward Winnie but stopped just short of embracing her. Tara didn’t hug.
“I’m sorry, Winnie, I really am. I don’t know why he upsets me so much!” She apologized, but she couldn’t help but wonder why she had misinterpreted Winnie’s comment. She didn’t chase men, or anyone else, and Winnie knew that.
The older woman cocked her head to one side, and her eyes narrowed as she contemplated Tara. A tiny smile lit her eyes, but she stifled it before it could reach her lips.
Tara side eyed Winnie, then stared at her incredulously. “What! Winnie! I do not have any interest in that man! How could you even think that?”
They studied each other silently. Winnie shrugged and turned away, but as she sauntered to the kitchen, a smile teased her lips.
Chapter Three
The bells over the boutique door rang out. Becky looked up from the counter where she sat threading beads onto copper wire. “Hi, what’s up?”
Tara wound her way around the counter. “Nothing much, how are things going here?”
“Sales are up, thanks to Mister Handsome. He bought half the store.” She motioned with her elbow toward the empty spots in the clutter of furniture. “I had young Bobby deliver it about an hour ago.”
Tara rubbed her temple as she sorted absently through the stack of mail on the counter.
Becky peered up at Tara. “No comment? Over $1,000 of cash sales in one afternoon, and no comment?”
Tara hung her purse on the hook on the wall. “I’ll bring over a few things from home and that new settee I finished last week, to fill in the space. Do you think that rug in the corner by the door would look good with the settee?” She wandered along the far wall, sorting art in her mind. “And these two should hang behind it.” She tugged down a framed print of the Madonna and a floral wreath made from coffee filters.
Becky had known Tara practically since she was born, and she’d only seen her shut down a few times. Even as a scraggly child, Tara had put one foot in front of the other and moved forward.
“How do you think this will look?” Tara leaned against the wall, arms stretched out, art work in each hand.
“Mmmmhmmm.” Becky was deep in thought.
“Becky? What is up with everybody today?” Tara lowered the art and glared toward the counter where Becky sat staring into space. She knew very well that her friend could feel the karma in a room with her eyes closed. Tara pinched the bridge of her nose. Determined to redirect the conversation, she tried again, “I put together some numbers for the resort project.”
Becky snapped back to the present as Tara shuffled through the stack of paperwork on her desk.
“We need to go through every bit of inventory and decide what we can use for the conference center and meeting rooms. I’ve already lined up what should go in the guest house.”
Becky glanced over Tara’s shoulder at the paperwork. “I still can’t believe you got this project. We’ve never done anything this big. Are you worried?”
“Nah, we have worked over about a million barns; this one is just opening onto an amphitheater. Add a few bathrooms and concession stands. No big deal. The only real challenge with the house is building a bathroom onto each sleeping room and expanding the kitchen. Stan is drawing up the plans and Steve will head up construction. They’ve worked together for 30 years. The outbuilding, where the calving sheds were will be the conference rooms. That’s mostly cleanup and decorating. The walls are pretty much usable where they stand. Plumbing is already there.”
Tara sat on the edge of her desk. “All three buildings at once is the only thing that will be a challenge. But our guys know the schedule and are committed. Winnie is finishing up the construction contracts today.”
Becky puffed out her cheeks and released her breath through pursed lips. “Whatever you say. Tell me again how you got this contract?”
Tara flipped through pages of notes and sketches. “The wife of a big-wig owner of some conglomerate firm in DC came into the shop one day. She loves shabby chic and we started talking.” Tara opened and closed several drawers. “Where did my pen go?”
Becky took a pen from her bun and handed it to Tara, who pulled a face and held the pen between her index finger and thumb. “Gross,” Tara mutter, but shrugged it off and started writing.
“Yeah but a resort…” Becky replied. “I guess they already owned the property – not much you could do about that. This is just not like you, Tara.”
“Taking this project is the only way to have any control of what they do to the south end of the county. You know as well as I do that corporate money is coming back to the area. That Justin person is living, breathing proof. As long as we can keep a big stake in what happens, we will be fine.”
Tara scribbled a few lines then turned back to Becky. “It wasn’t hard to convince that lady that they actually wanted to get away from the noise and crowds of the city. She loved the idea of a country retreat for their resort. Fireflies and sarsaparillas, versus martinis and black ties – that kind of thing.”
She shuffled through more papers. “We can’t let them come in and plow down half the state. Next thing you know, there will be chain hotels and discount box stores popping up, and the locals will be working for minimum wage. We all chose to live here for one reason, Becky – because it’s not the city.”
Tara sounded pretty sure of herself, Becky supposed, but she was great at bluffing her way through terror. There wasn’t much she could do to deter Tara anyway, so she crossed the resort off her mental checklist of things to worry about.
“What’s not the city?” Justin asked as the bells over the door jingled, announcing his arrival.
“…Smithville.” Becky replied with a grin.
“That’s obvious, guess I missed the topic of conversation.” Justin grinned unperturbedly at Tara, then leaned on the counter and turned to Becky. “You forgot to send the bolts for the living room furniture, beautiful.”
“Oh Lordy, sorry!” Becky hurried toward the back room, muttering under her breath about incompetent teenage delivery boys.
Justin laughed and turned to Tara. “What are you up to this afternoon?”
“Paperwork.”
“Here you go, handsome!” Becky
bustled around the counter to tuck a zip-lock baggie of nuts and bolts into Justin’s shirt pocket, patting and smoothing it as she grinned and fluttered her lashes. “Tara is busy with her resort.” She tucked Justin’s arm in hers and led him away from Tara’s frustration. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Dishes? Drapes?”
Justin retreated a few steps and disengaged Becky’s fingers. “Resort? You two are going to a resort? I didn’t think there was anything like that around here.”
“No, no, silly, we’re building it! Some fancy company from Washington is—”
“Sorry we missed getting you the bolts,” Tara interrupted, stepping directly in front of Becky. “I’ll have a little talk with Bobby about being more careful.”
Justin frowned. How does she pop up every damn time Becky starts to say something interesting? “What company in DC?”
“I…well…” Becky sputtered, realizing she’d blown it again.
Tara sighed. “It’s fine, Becky, you’re fine, relax. We are decorating a company retreat for a large DC firm. There, now you know.”
“What firm?” Justin had a steel edge to his voice that gave Tara pause.
“I don’t see what business that is of—”
“What firm, Tara?” There was no denying that Justin would get an answer. His jaw was set at an angle she’d not seen before, and his eyes glittered ominously.
“ST&L, if you must know.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Justin looked as if he’d been kicked in the gut, then confusion washed over his face, followed by anger. “I don’t see how you plan to decorate a resort I’m building. A resort I designed!”
“What are you talking about? I’m building their resort!” Tara snapped defensively.
“You’re building? I’m way past confused here.” Justin ran his hands through his hair and looked from Becky to Tara and back. “What are you talking about? I came here with a contract in my pocket to design and build a corporate resort for ST&L. I was given the job personally by the CEO, Mr. Denny Vanderworth!”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 3
