Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  Rubbing his hand across his scalp, he sighed in frustration. Would he ever be able to get close enough to understand her? She was such an enigma-- a porcupine, a puffer fish. Her passions ran deep and were undeniable, but her defense system was practically impenetrable.

  To this point in his life, the women he’d dated were consumed with fashion, music, parties, friends, and their careers. Tara’s value system was firmly centered on her community, but her obsession didn’t seem healthy. Then again, who could survive an alcoholic father and come out unscathed? Many of the kids in his old neighborhood had suffered from neglect, cruelty, and violence. Their lives had been filled with anger, fear, and hatred. How had Tara focused her harrowing experiences into success? Why did she feel such an odd and consuming debt to the people of Smithville? And how had she ended up with Winnie instead of the foster care system? Obviously, the old woman unselfishly sharing her wealth had made an enormous difference in Tara’s life.

  * * *

  The garage door in the back of the warehouse clanked and jolted as it rolled open. A wave of heat drifted toward Tara. She snapped a pen to her clipboard, and she flipped on the bank of light switches. A sea of furniture illuminated in front of her, and a deep sigh passed her lips. The task ahead was daunting and would take hours.

  Plopping the clipboard onto a stack of crates, she reached behind her to collect her hair, weaving it into a heavy braid. Craning her neck to twist the braid into a bun, she glanced out the garage door. It would be several hours before the sun set and the temperature dropped to a tolerable level. She rubbed her palms across the front of her tank top, sweat already beading on her lip and across her back.

  Picking up her clipboard, she moved resolutely forward.

  Couches. I need to find ten to fifteen couches.

  There was a method to her madness and an organization to her warehouse, but the system usually came unglued around the edges during a house remodel or a big sale at the shop. Moving all the pieces around to get items out was a lot of work. Knowing the sofas were supposed to be in the far front corner, she traversed the maze in that general direction.

  It wasn’t all bad squeezing between the mix of furnishings; it gave her the opportunity to remind herself of items that had been tucked away for years. She paused to smooth her fingers across the top of a chest of drawers. Bending to view the details of the pediment, her forehead puckered. She pulled open the drawers. The bottom drawer stuck on one side and the back fell off, nails protruding. She rocked the drawer back and forth until most of it returned into the dresser, scribbled notes on her clipboard in the bedroom furniture section of her list, then moved on.

  She lifted a side table and skootched in front of a sofa. The pale-orange fabric was worn and dingy, but the lines were good. Curved arms, three cushions, wood bun feet. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a compact tape measure. Six feet long. Perfect. Shuffling to the back page of the clipboard, she peeled off a large red sticky tag and wrote RESORT on it, then stuck it to the back cushion of the sofa. On her list, she noted the ID number, color. and length of the couch.

  Squeezing behind the sofa, she crawled over another to inspect an overstuffed chair. The green fabric was worn to holes on the arms, but the wide back and curved style would make a good match for the sofa. Tara measured and marked the chair with a sticky tag, then noted it on her list.

  An hour later, she heard a truck pull up behind the warehouse. Puffing stray hairs out of her eyes, she finished scribbling on her clipboard.

  * * *

  Justin climbed from his truck, his mouth gaping toward the open garage door. The nondescript metal building appeared to contain an endless quantity of ratty furniture. Wandering to the opening, he stared at the piles of cabinets, chairs, tables, and headboards, all stacked at odd angles, each leaning on the next; with side tables, lamps, rolled rugs, and art work piled on top.

  “What the…?”

  Sucking in, he pressed himself between a stack of chairs to follow a winding path through the warehouse. “Tara? Are you here?”

  He heard a shuffle from the front of the huge space. Tara’s head popped up above a stack of boxes. “Justin? What are you doing here?” Her voice echoed.

  “I went by your office, but Winnie said you were over here. What are you doing?”

  “Just a minute.” Her head disappeared and he heard furniture feet scraping along the concrete floor. Her head reappeared briefly between two armoires, then vanished. She grunted, followed by more shuffling noise, and finally rounded a kitchen table with three legs, tilted up on one end.

  Her hand smoothed at her ratty lopsided braid, but a lock of damp hair hung in front of one ear. A dark smudge marred her cheek, and a long red scratch ran down one arm.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, taking a step toward her. “What happened to your arm?”

  “My arm?” She looked down, rubbing her hand across the scrape. “Oh, I don’t know.” Her eyes shifted to Justin then to the floor, and finally to the far garage door. “Why are you here?”

  She looked tired and hot. He wanted to tuck the lock of hair behind her ear and soothe the worry lines from around her eyes. He moved to shove his hands into his pockets but crossed his arms instead. “I wanted to tell you I went to see the Harrison place but…” He waved one hand vaguely toward the infinite pile of furniture. “Where did all this come from?”

  She dropped onto a kitchen chair and scratched a mosquito bite on her ankle. “I told you I’ve been collecting furniture for ten years.”

  “Yeah but I didn’t know you meant— I didn’t know you were serious!”

  She snorted weakly. “So, you went to the Harrison house?”

  He uncrossed his arms and dragged a stool up to face Tara. “I owe you an apology.” Reaching between them he took her hand. She tried to pull it back, but he held it firm until she relented. He laid her hand on his knee and smoothed her fingers across the fabric of his jeans.

  She frowned. “Okay, I give up. Why do you need to apologize?”

  He gazed around the space, his mind still boggled by the sheer number of household goods she had collected. His eyes met hers and a tiny smile tilted one side of his mouth. “It would seem that I continually underestimate you. What am I going to find out next? Do you leap tall buildings with a single bound?”

  She stood, jerking her hand away. “Stop making fun of me.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. “I’m serious Tara. Every time I turn around, you do the impossible.”

  Embarrassed that she was filthy and sweaty, she squirmed to get up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Shhh, just rest for a minute, will you?” He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other across her legs. When she stilled, he moved his hand to massage her knee. Her eyelids fluttered as she stared at his tan fingers. Keeping his voice soothing and low, he told her about his visit to the house and how impressed he was with the outcome.

  He rambled on, enjoying having Tara close to him. She would relax, then stiffen, only to settle down again. He wondered what kept her on edge. He could sense that she enjoyed their chemistry, but he also understood that she was uncomfortable with physical contact of any kind. Someday he’d ask her if anyone had hurt her, but in the meantime he’d move slow. He figured if he kept touching her casually, taking advantage of the quiet moments, she would eventually adjust. Perhaps someday she could accept him on a more intimate level. He looked forward to the day he could pull her into his arms and not feel her stiffen.

  Wanting the moment to end well, he kissed her grubby cheek and nudged her to stand. “Can I help you? It’s hot and you’re obviously tired.”

  She stretched and groaned. “I’m trying to find furniture for the resort.”

  His eyes rounded. “You mean— You’d use this stuff?”

  She laughed at his palpable dismay. “Come here.” She took his hand and led him to a china hutch, clearly from the eighties, and made from dark, heavy oak. “This
will be perfect for the house.”

  “You’re serious…”

  “Yeah. I’ll strip it down and take off the wood handles and the hinges. This shelf will have to go, and these two doors, and I’ll replace some of this heavy trim. A few coats of white paint and new hardware, and this will make a perfect dry bar for one of the sitting areas.”

  His head tilted to one side. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Hmmm.” He wasn’t convinced.

  She pointed toward a set of upholstered chairs with curved wing sides, covered in mustard-yellow vine fabric. “Those will be ideal too.”

  “Tara these are high-end clients.”

  She snorted. “I know that!” Maneuvering to the chairs, she ran her hand along the top of one, clearly seeing a different chair than Justin. “I’ll take it to my upholstery guy. He’ll clean it up, recover it in basic canvas, and we’ll order white slipcovers with pleated skirts. Add an accent throw or a pillow and it’s a classic.”

  He scratched his head, his forehead creased.

  “Okay, how about this?” She brushed her hand across the top of a small table and a cloud of dust poofed into the air. Delicate tripod legs supported a matching, upturned tripod, which held the inlaid wood top. She beamed at the table lovingly and glanced up at Justin.

  His expression was more horrified than before.

  Turning back to the table, she tried to see it through his eyes. The poor little stand was still barn fresh and covered in cobwebs and grime. “It looks pretty sad, I suppose.” She stood and brushed her hands across her stomach. “How about this…”

  She climbed over a plaid sofa and dragged a rolled rug toward him. Kneeling, she partially unrolled it and dragged at one of the chairs. “Imagine those two chairs, with white covers, facing each other, on this rug.” She picked up the table and sat it next to the chair. “And this little table cleaned and shining between them, with a few hardbound books and a vase of fresh flowers on top.” She moved back and spread her hands. “They are in front of a bank of windows with a tree outside.”

  His head tilted to one side, then the other. “I don’t know…”

  She sighed, pulled the chair and table off the rug, then kicked it with her foot as it rolled. “Fine. I don’t know how to explain it to you then.”

  “Why don’t we just buy furniture?”

  The color drained from her face. “Buy?”

  “Yeah, you know, walk into a store, look through a catalog, show the designer a picture and say, ‘I want this’.”

  Her lips moved momentarily but nothing came out. She cleared her throat. “I’m a designer, and we have all this stuff…”

  “It sounds like a ton of work. Seriously, why not just sign the receipt and have them deliver the pieces new?”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and tapped her foot. He waited, the question hanging in the air between them. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and her fists came to her hips. He knew a statement was imminent.

  “I suppose we could do that, but for one thing, I enjoy this.” She waved her hand toward the furniture. “Finding things and making them beautiful. Secondly, I’m not used to spending money I don’t have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She plopped onto the plaid sofa and dust billowed around her. “You’re right. I’ve never designed a resort. I usually design and furnish homes for real people. I forget that I could waltz into a store, order whatever I want, and charge it to someone with bottomless pockets.” She shook her head. “I don’t work that way. I use what I have and when I get the check at the end, it’s all mine.”

  It was Justin’s turn to plop onto a mustard-yellow chair and wave at the dust. “Wait. So, if we use this stuff, you’d charge Muffy for the furniture, but she’d pay you, not a store.”

  Tara nodded.

  “Okay, I see your point, but that’s not an effective use of your time and effort based on our deadline. And this stuff…” He glanced at a tabletop standing on end, the legs taped across its underside.

  She stood. “Do you have faith in me or not?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his forehead to his hands. Rubbing his palms across the top of his head, he mumbled incoherently.

  She chewed her bottom lip. “How about this? I’ll draw up some sketches for this vignette and collect some samples, so you can see what I mean.”

  “Vignette?”

  She swirled her hands in the air. “A grouping of unrelated stuff… to form a cohesive arrangement.”

  His expression lightened so she continued.

  “I’ll also put together a price for my time, the fabric, and the upholstery, even the time to deliver it to the property. You put together numbers for your time to shop and the cost of the furniture, and we’ll compare bottom-line numbers. I’m probably not going to have enough time to do all the furniture anyway, but we should be able to figure out where we can make the most money.”

  He was beginning to see how she had become so successful, and he wasn’t surprised to realize her accomplishments had come from a lot of hard work. He pursed his lips and regarded her hopeful expression. Finally, he stood and brushed his hands together. “Deal.”

  She nodded once in agreement. “Cool. I’m done for tonight. Let’s get out of here.” Turning, she collected her clipboard and led the way through the labyrinth of furnishings.

  When they reached the garage door, Tara turned off the lights and punched buttons to close the door. Outside, she balanced the clipboard on a stack of pallets and reached to pick up the end of the hose that was coiled on a hanger by the door. Tugging off a few loops, she gave the knob several turns and wandered under a shade tree to gulp water, fountain style. Justin stood in the shade next to her and waited for a turn.

  She handed him the hose and headed toward the faucet. He slurped one gulp and the water sputtered to a dribble. Turning his head toward Tara, he saw her grin wickedly, her foot pressing the hose onto the concrete. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize what she had in mind.

  She lifted her foot and cold water spurted the side of his face. He gasped and dropped the hose.

  She bent double, hooting with laughter.

  He swiped his hands across his face, flinging water in all directions, then bent and grabbed the hose. Covering the end with his thumb, he aimed directly for Tara.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tara screeched and made a beeline for her truck. Justin ran after her, aiming the wild spray with one hand, as his other arm wheeled behind him to free the hose from the wall hanger.

  She dove behind her truck and he lifted the hose high to squirt her over the top. She covered her head, laughing and squealing, and ran toward the front of the truck. He met her and she pivoted, heading toward the back. He met her there, and soon they were dancing across from each other, the truck in the middle; each threatening to run the opposite direction.

  Tara was soaked to the skin by the time she dove for Justin, grabbing for the hose blindly, hands grasping, her head turned to avoid the spraying water. Laughing and screaming, they both grasped the hose, water drenching their faces and soaking their shirts.

  She let go of the hose with one hand, to grab for his nose. Finding it, she twisted, and he dropped the hose to grab at her. She turned the hose over his head. He dodged and twisted as she laughed and taunted him, dancing around him in circles, spraying him soundly as he covered his head with his arms.

  Suddenly he charged her, and she squealed, dropped the hose, and ran. He grabbed for her arm but caught the back of her tank top, jerking her to a halt. He slid his arms around her stomach, snatching her up from the back and swinging her around, her feet kicking in the air, and both of them laughing and shouting.

  Panting and gasping, they came to a halt. She collapsed, her back against his chest, her chest heaving. He relaxed his grip and she stomped hard on his foot. He almost lost his grip, but his new boot prevented her from hurting his f
oot. Swinging her around to face him, he gazed into her joyful eyes. “You fight dirty, you little vixen!”

  She giggled, her head falling back as she laughed.

  Goosebumps rose along Justin’s dripping skin and blood rushed past his ears. Seeing her playful and carefree unhinged a carefully locked floodgate in his heart. A rage of emotion surged through his body as his arms clenched around her waist. He wanted to kiss her, take her, hold her, keep her. Overcome by emotion, he stared at her as if she were a stranger.

  Tara stilled, surprised by his sudden shift of mood. Her smile melted and her eyes got large, her hands clenching the front of his shirt. His eyes blazed into hers and she reared back.

  Before she could pull away, his lips came down on hers, passionate and desperate. His hands splayed across her back, locking her to him like a vise.

  * * *

  Warning bells of alarm sounded in Tara mind. Her brain screamed for her to run and panic stabbed at her chest. Desperately, she twisted in his arms, her hands clawing at his chest. Her feet scrambled on the concrete and her knee made hard contact with Justin’s groin.

  Justin’s hands dropped as he bent in half. Grabbing his crotch, he groaned in shock and pain.

  Tara didn’t look back as she ran to her truck. Slamming the truck into reverse, she nearly hit him as she backed up. Her tires churned up gravel and dirt into his face, and she tore out of the parking lot as if the devil himself were after her.

  He raised one hand toward her as she sped away, then dropped to his knees, his head hanging.

  * * *

  Winnie cracked her head soundly on the top edge of the open refrigerator when Tara slammed open the back door. Straightening and rubbing the back of her head, Winnie caught a glimpse of the girl as she streaked across the kitchen to the back stairs. “What on earth?”