Uneasy with Bobby’s demeanor, Chad leaned back in his chair, crossing one boot over the other knee. “What was surprising?” he said, almost afraid to ask.
Bobby examined the cuticles of his left hand, his lip curled. “I delivered rose bushes to Miss Julia.”
“Right, and?”
The little man scoffed. “Let’s just say the little lady apparently has a thing for me.” A knowing grin spread across his thin face.
Chad’s head jerked back, and his jaw fell slack. “What do you mean, ‘a thing’?”
Lifting off the desk, Bobby strutted across the office, then turned and crammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “She took me in her house and—”
Chad’s foot dropped to the floor and he leaned forward in his chair. Julia had shut him down cold and come onto Bobby? No, that was—would she have? He needed more info. “And?”
Wandering to the wall, Bobby scratched at an imaginary speck on the paint and snorted, “She has a really tender touch, yes she does.”
Chad’s chair rolled back and slammed into the wall, shocking them both. He’d never known Bobby to act this way and certainly not over a woman he was interested in—in—helping. “What are you talking about?”
Bobby floundered momentarily, alerted to Chad’s shock. “I—she—”
Crossing the room toward Bobby, his expression grim, Chad stared down at the little man. “She what?”
Bobby’s hand flickered to his face. “She nursed my scratch.”
A pause hung in the air between the two men as Chad’s eyes darted from the scratch to Bobby’s eyes and back.
Chad swung away, all the air escaping from his lungs in one long breath. The woman was no business of his, he reminded himself. She wasn’t interested in dating him, obviously, and he had his hands full with work, but messing with Bobby was another matter altogether.
Bobby hung back, entirely stumped by Chad’s behavior. “She done a nice job, Chad. She has real soft hands.”
The muscles in Chad’s back sagged as he rubbed his hands down his face -- Bobby’s sentence hanging unfinished in space.
Chapter Three
Julia yawned and stretched, dropped one foot from her warm bed onto the cold hardwood floor, and then the other. Ringo scratched at the bedroom door, anxious to go out.
She pulled on a robe and padded across the bedroom and through the living room, with Ringo’s nails clicking on the floor beside her. The screen door screeched as she pushed it open for the little dog to trot out into the morning sun. The cat strolled in through the open door, as if he had every right to be in the house and tiptoed around her feet, rubbing against her shin, his tail swishing languidly around her knee.
Leery of upsetting the cat, Julia froze and leaned against the doorjamb, first staring down at the cat, then lifting her gaze to survey the bare living room. It looked like she felt – empty. Her stomach grumbled, evidently in agreement. She’d walked Ringo to the café each morning for coffee, and she’d survived on sandwiches the last few days, but it was time to get on with what was left of her life. The only question was, where should she start?
The rose bushes blooming cheerfully across the front of the porch had been a pleasure she’d allowed herself to enjoy. She’d been craving something meaningful to do for months but now, standing alone in her empty broken house, she was once again overwhelmed.
Ringo whined at the screen and she let him in, cautiously scooting the black and white cat back onto the porch with her foot as she closed the door. With his paws on her knees, Ringo regarded Julia through dark liquid eyes. She bent to pick him up but instead decided to lower awkwardly to the floor and tugged her knees up to sit cross-legged. Ringo climbed into her lap and put his front paws on her chest, his gaze searching hers. He yapped.
“You’re right, little guy,” she hummed, ruffling his ears. “You need a bed. Let’s go see what we can find, shall we?”
Ringo jumped from her lap and ran circles around her, barking happily as she struggled to rise stiffly from the floor.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Julia grabbed her purse from the window seat, checked to be sure her notebook was tucked inside, then opened the screen door, waiting for Ringo to pass. As she stepped off the porch, the cat in the wicker chair lifted his head, then gracefully leapt down to stretch, his hiney in the air and front paws with claws extended as far in front as he could reach. About the time Julia opened the passenger door for Ringo to jump into the truck, the cat trotted past, and with one effortless motion bound up onto the truck seat.
Ringo and Julia glanced at each other in shock.
“No, kitty, get out of the truck,” Julia instructed, shooing at it with her hand.
Unperturbed, the cat blinked at her one time and remained sitting calmly in the center of the seat.
She reached for the cat, then remembered his claws swiping Ringo’s still-swollen nose and reconsidered. Evidently, the cat intended to go with them.
She shrugged. “Come on, Ringo, get in the truck.”
The little dog circled her foot whining and sat on the gravel drive. His chin pointed up to her face, eyes imploring, clearly not pleased that the cat was in the truck.
Frustrated, Julia glanced from the cat to the dog. “Ringo, I didn’t know cats like to ride in trucks either, and I don’t know why he chooses to ride in ours but apparently he does, so get in.”
Ringo didn’t move.
Julia scooped him up, deposited him on the seat, and closed the door. Ringo and the cat regarded each other solemnly, neither moving.
Julia rounded the front of the truck, muttering about animals, and climbed in the driver seat. Plopping her purse on the floor in front of the cat, she stared at him in confusion. “Seriously? You really want to ride in the truck?”
The cat blinked once in response.
Despite her concern that the cat would flip out and turn into a spitting, clawing missile, Julia started the truck and put it in reverse. To her surprise, the cat bound into her lap to watch out the window, with one paw on the armrest. Ringo protested with a whine and Julia was apt to agree, but the cat seemed ready to roll and she was fearful enough of those long claws to let him be. If he was happy, she was happy.
Julia parked in front of the furniture boutique and pulled the keys from the ignition. The cat jumped from her lap, and Ringo scrambled to the far side of the cab. “You guys have to wait here. I’m not sure they want you in there.” The little dog whined, glanced at the cat now curled on the passenger seat, and implored Julia with his shining brown eyes as she closed the truck door.
“I won’t be long,” she promised. “Be nice to the kitty.”
Stopping at the door of the shop to touch a garden bench made from an old headboard, she made a mental note to consider it as an option. Bells jingled as she pushed open the door, and a pretty, middle-aged woman smiled and stepped from behind the counter. Her hair was swooped into a huge loose bun with several pencils poked through it, and her jewelry sparkled and jingled on the ample breast of her loose caftan. She stopped in front of Julia and grinned broadly. “Well, hello! I was wondering when you were going to stop by. I was beginning to think I’d have to come drag you in here.”
Confused, Julia glanced behind her, unsure the woman was speaking to her.
“I’m Becky,” the woman continued. “I heard we had a little blond beauty in town with no furniture. You must be Julia.” Her hand shot out, bracelets tinkling, and she waited for Julia to respond.
Still hesitant, Julia took Becky’s hand. Instantly she was pulled close and enveloped into a hug.
“My but you are a tiny little thing!” Becky stepped back and surveyed Julia from head to foot. “I’m so glad you came by.”
Wobbling back a step in shock, Julia regrouped. “—Why?”
Laughter burst from Becky’s bounteous chest, causing her many necklaces to glitter and bounce. “Oh. honey, this is a small town. I forget you’re not used to us.
I wanted to say hello, that’s all.”
“Oh—Hello,” Julia offered a weak smile. Greetings in this place were definitely different than any she had ever known. In the city, she could walk out in public and be anonymous – that would obviously be more difficult here.
“So, now you need furniture, am I right?” Becky asked, her eyes shining.
Julia nodded with a lump in her throat as she struggled to think and form words. She hated being put on the spot and meeting people one on one was the most challenging time for her to be calm.
“Do you see anything you like?” Becky asked, motioning toward the spread of furniture.
For the first time, Julia’s eyes wandered over the profusion of items crammed into the small store. Bright colors and an odd mixture of old and new assailed her senses. She had never seen anything quite like it. Distracted from the stress of talking to Becky, she swallowed hard, her expression warming.
Becky scrutinized her, her head tilted to one side. “Do you have a style in mind for that wonderful old house of yours?”
Julia’s head swung back to Becky, her eyes wide. How did Becky know her house?
Placing a hand on Julia’s shoulder, the older woman laughed again. “I know where you live from the gossip chain, dear. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Julia had nothing to say. Once again, she felt as if her secrets had been revealed and she wasn’t prepared. Her safety bubble of anonymity was shattered, and she felt vulnerable, a feeling she had come to despise. Where had her power gone? She no longer had control over anything. What other things did these people know about her?
Concern marked Becky’s brow. “Come and sit down for a minute, sweetie. You look a bit peaked.” Taking Julia’s arm, Becky led her to a stool near the counter.
Julia’s head spun. She’d come all this way to find solitude -- a place she could be alone and not be judged by who she had once been, and the whole town already knew her!
Becky pulled up a chair next to Julia, her colorful jewelry clinking and jangling. “Would you like a drink of water? Soda maybe?”
No answer came to Julia. Struggling to find footing, she turned to gaze at Becky. The older woman truly appeared to be concerned. Thinking back through the conversation, she realized that all Becky had said was that Julia was blond, new in town, lived in an old house, and had no furniture. That information must have come from the mover, Chad, and that disappointed her on a deeper level than she would have expected. She hadn’t told him to keep her arrival quiet, but...
Julia cleared her throat. “Who gave you all this info about me, may I ask?”
Tapping her finger to her lips, Becky’s eyes roamed along the ceiling. “Well, let’s see, I was at the café, and Marge said she’d seen you -- and she’d been talking to Bobby, so it must be him. Didn’t he and Chad deliver your things?”
Warm relief flowed though Julia. That type of small-town gossip didn’t bother her. If all they knew of her was limited to her arrival in Smithville, she could deal with that. She didn’t know why exactly, but she’d hoped Chad hadn’t been the one telling tales about her. She’d felt that he understood her enough to see that she wanted to be left alone.
No, that couldn’t be it, she reminded herself. She didn’t need or want him to identify with her; she was just glad he was professional, or more tactful.
Realizing Becky was speaking, Julia gave herself a mental shake. “I’m sorry, what?”
Smiling, Becky patted Julia’s knee. “I was just saying you look a bit better now.”
Julia stood and glanced through the shop window. She noticed Ringo in the truck, his front paws on the steering wheel and the cat beside him with his paws on the dash, both peering into the store. As always, Ringo’s tongue hung from one side of his mouth, his ears were perked, and he seemed to be oblivious to the large cat perched next to him. Her spirits lifted and she suppressed a giggle, then turned her attention back to the various furniture spread before her. “I heard you have furniture, and you certainly do.”
Grinning, obviously relieved, Becky agreed as her gaze followed Julia’s out the window. “Oh! Your cat rides in the truck with you?”
Picking up on Becky’s shock, Julia bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, he’s not really my cat; he showed up yesterday and slept on the porch last night. When we got in the truck, he just jumped in. Is that normal?”
Becky shook her head and chuckled – even her jewelry seemed amused. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. Most cats dislike cars as far as I know.”
Julia shrugged. “Well, I guess he likes it, because he sat on my lap and watched out the window as I drove here.”
“No kidding?”
“Serious,” Julia replied, wandering toward a painted dresser to smooth her hand across the top. “Maybe he’s been trained or something, by his owner.”
Becky followed Julia, then, unable to resist, she cast one more glance over her shoulder at the truck. “Are you going to live in the house as is, or are you going to remodel?”
Julia muttered vaguely as she wandered. “I need everything, but I don’t know what my style is.” Turning to Becky she spoke louder, straightening her spine, willing herself to be confident. “I’m definitely going to update things and modernize the plumbing, but I already— I don’t think I could put modern furniture in it, it wouldn’t feel right.”
Becky nodded. “I agree. I don’t suppose you’ve met Tara yet or been to the real estate office, have you?”
Julia shook her head. “No, why?”
“This is her shop and she remodeled the real estate office -- the old house. I was just thinking that she would be able to give you all sorts of helpful tips and ideas. But for now, let’s see what appeals to you, shall we?”
Julia nodded, following the older woman as she led the way through the tangle of furnishings to stop in front of a painted iron bed frame. “Since you like the feel of that beautiful old house, let’s look at some period pieces that would be true to the Victorian era.”
Julia reached out to touch the old bedframe. The swirled iron was cold to the touch with a heavy substantial feel. The paint was missing in places, giving the piece an aura of wisdom and the effect was charming. She was more than a little amazed that something so old and worn would appeal to her, but the missing paint and dents spoke to her of hard times past, that rang true. But did she deserve something so pretty?
The bed was set up with a mock mattress, covered in a vintage quilt with pastel blues and pinks and heaped with tattered, ruffled pillows. Delicate nightstands with twisted wood legs and matching scuffed and cracked paint stood on each side of the bed, complete with tarnished brass lamps and old books as well as a vase of roses. A braided rug on the floor added warmth to the collection.
Julia sighed, her eyes soft. “This feels so romantic, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what we call this style,” Becky replied. “Romantic shabby chic.”
“It would be perfect for my house, don’t you think?” Julia asked doubtfully but with a spark of hope. The beautiful pieces felt good to her, and that alone was enough to make her walk away.
Becky nodded. “Let’s look some more, but you keep this in mind.” Taking Julia’s hand, Becky moved on through the shop to stop in front of a blue and white china hutch. “This piece is extra special because we have two the same. Have you given thought to your kitchen yet?”
Julia shrugged. “Not much beyond knowing that it needs help.”
Nodding, Becky ran her hand along the side of the hutch. “I’ve always thought that these two old hutches would be beautiful on either side of a wide farm sink.”
Pausing to see her kitchen in her mind’s eye, Julia tried to imagine the hutch in the room. Function was all she had considered up to this point -- could she accept this shabby romantic style? Her brow crinkled in thought. “What’s a farm sink?”
“Come over here, I’ll show you.” Becky returned to the counter and pulled out several magazines. “You tell me what yo
u like, okay?”
Julia nodded and found a comfortable spot to look over Becky’s shoulder.
Flipping pages, Becky paused at a full-page spread of a bedroom. “This is the romantic look I was talking about. See the delicate prints of the fabrics and linens? It softens the edges and gives a room a fragile feel.”
Julia leaned over the magazine, biting the edge of her bottom lip.
“Men tend to hate it.” Becky smiled then continued. “Also, in the Romantic style, the paint on wood furnishings is crackled and looks time worn.”
“This type of table is also popular in the cottage style,” Becky pointed to the picture. “But in cottages, the fabrics and other touches are different. See here?” Becky flipped open another magazine.
Julia nodded and pointed. “Oh, I see, the fabrics are bolder, more solid colors.”
“You have a great eye,” Becky encouraged. “You’re going to be good at this, I can tell. What kind of place did you have before you came here?”
Her face falling, Julia moved back, as if to distance herself from the discomfort of the question. “I— it was modern, sleek. I want to try something different.” That was the understatement of the century. She’d never even stepped foot into a shop with secondhand furniture until today. She’d surrounded herself with only the newest, finest, and brightest. But that was then, and she didn’t feel like she should have new things any longer.
Sensing her uneasiness with the past, Becky moved forward. “Well, romantic shabby is your thing then. Oh, see here, this is a farm sink.”
Julia stepped back up and bent over the magazine. “I have one of those!”
Laughing, Becky patted the petite woman on the back. “This is going to be fun for you. Let’s go back and look at that hutch.”
* * *
Ringo’s barking brought Julia from the kitchen. “What is it, boy? Is the shop delivering our things?”
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she opened the front door and stood at the screen, breathing in the fresh spring breeze. She watched Chad and Bobby open the back of the box truck and begin removing the items she and Becky had selected. The men laughed, the sound bringing a smile to her own lips.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 30
