The alpaca snorted, causing Lizzie to laugh. “Hold down the fort, okay old girl?” she said to the dog over her shoulder, then turned and headed toward the house. Elliot’s car pulled into the yard about the time Lizzie reached her back steps, and she waited for him to join her.
Bending to kiss her cheek, he grinned. “You smell lovely today. What is that? Eau de barnyard?”
She shrugged and turned to head up the steps without answering.
Elliot reached over her to open the screen door, aware of her somber mood. “How are you feeling today?”
Lizzie paused on the bottom step and turned, still short of eye level with him. “I’m—” Silence stretched between them and she frowned. Finally, she shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure what to think.”
Elliot leaned closer. His nostrils flared at the reek of fresh manure, but somehow she still managed to draw him in. His lips touched her forehead, then her temple. “You’ll figure it out,” he whispered.
She shuddered, causing him to grin. He patted her coverall-clad butt. “Are you about ready to go?”
Lizzie’s eyes refocused and she turned on the narrow step to go inside. Once inside the door, she shrugged out of her coveralls and hung them on the hook, then headed for the bathroom. “I just need to wash up and I’m ready.”
Elliot’s gaze roamed over her outfit, shaking his head in appreciation. She wore a simple boot-length white cotton dress fitted at the waist. Over the dress was a light-blue open vest decorated with diagonal rows of earth-tone beads and stones, one row copper, the next silver, another that looked like ivory, fitted closely together, covering the entire vest. Her necklace was a dark, polished, palm-size round stone with a hole in the center, hanging from a leather cord. How she had managed to stuff all that into her coveralls was beyond him, let alone how she’d selected the ensemble in the first place.
As the bathroom door squeaked open, Lizzie called out “Make yourself at home…”
Taking his time, Elliot wandered into the kitchen. The percolator was on the stove and wondering if there was coffee in it, he lifted the lid to peer in. With a frown at the empty interior he replaced the lid. Spotting the herbs hanging from a ceiling beam overhead, he reached up to touch a faded purple flower.
“That’s lavender,” Lizzie said as she plopped down on the bench in the mudroom to lace her knee-high leather boot.
He jerked his hand back.
“It’s okay, you can touch it. Take it down if you want to.”
Intrigued, he carefully unhooked the dried bouquet and brought it to his nose. “It smells like lavender.”
Lizzie laughed. “What did you think lavender would smell like?”
He shrugged, chagrined. “I don’t know.”
With her other boot on, Lizzie stood and collected her purse and shawl. “Lavender is popular right now. It’s one of my favorites.”
He sniffed it again, then sneezed, causing Lizzie to laugh. “It may be a little dusty.”
He considered the dried plants, turning them this way and that. “I knew lavender was a flower, of course, but I guess I never thought of it growing wild somewhere.”
She tilted her head, enjoying his wonder. “Where do you think all that smelly stuff like air freshener and bath beads comes from?”
He reached up to hang the lavender back on the hook. “Artificial ingredients, of course.” He turned to her. “What are you going to do with it?”
Turning off lights and settling the house for their departure, Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Soap maybe, or sachets for my closet.”
Elliot seemed confused. “What do you mean, soap?”
She stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’?”
He pointed up at the herbs. “You’ll use that for soap?”
Ready to get on the road, concerned that her mother would somehow show up and ruin her plans, Lizzie took his arm and dragged him toward the door. “No, silly, I’ll use it to make soap.”
Elliot stopped abruptly, causing her to halt and turn to him in question.
“You make soap,” he said, more as a statement than a question. “As in—standing out in the yard, over a boiling cauldron of lye, stirring with a stick.”
Lizzie’s brow wrinkled. “Well, I suppose if I needed a cauldron of soap, I could do it that way—but I usually just use a pan on the stove.”
He shook his head in amazement, wondering what other surprises she’d spring on him. Finally, he said, “Why put lavender in it? Isn’t lye caustic? I don’t see how a few dried flowers will help…”
She tossed her hands in the air. “Of course lye is caustic, why would I use lye when I make soap?”
Realizing he had no comprehension of modern soap making, he faltered. “Well… I thought…”
Lizzie laughed, tugging on his hand once again. “Back when they bathed once a year, I suppose lye was called for, but it’s not really necessary nowadays.”
He held the back door open for her. “Oh, I see your point.”
They clomped down the old wooden steps, and Lizzie headed across the yard toward Elliot’s car. He stopped and pointed back toward the door. “Aren’t you going to lock it?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Lizzie shook her head. “No, Julia is coming by later, and she doesn’t have a key.”
Following her, his eyes widened in amazement. “You’re going to go out of town all day. Aren’t you worried about coming home and walking in on the boogie man?”
Lizzie stood waiting at the passenger door of his car. “Well, if I do, you’ll have to rescue me.”
“I can do that,” he assured her with a grin as he clicked his key fob and bent to open her door.
She smiled up as him. “Thank you.”
He nodded, waiting for her to sit and collect her skirts, then closed the door and circled the front of the car, tipping an imaginary hat at Ingrid and Lily, who watched from the paddock.
Once settled and buckled, he placed his hand on the back of Lizzie’s seat to turn the car around. Their gazes locked and a warm liquid shiver ran down Lizzie’s back.
“Thanks for spending the day with me…” she began, unsure of what she was going to say, or how she felt about being with him.
His eyes searched her face; then he nodded once, his expression serious. Placing the car back into drive, he stared out the windshield. “So back to the soap…”
Lizzie tucked her purse under her legs and placed her shawl on the seat beside her. “What is it with you and soap? I can’t believe you’re all hung up on it.”
“Why lavender? Because of the smell?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I’m just curious. I’ve never known anyone who makes soap.”
Considering his answer, she thought for a moment. “Well, there are several reasons to use lavender, actually. Are you really that interested?”
His gaze darted from the driveway to her face and back. “I really am.”
“For one, the smell is known to relax people,” she began, watching him for any sign of boredom.
He grinned, waiting for her to continue.
“It’s also an insect repellant, and it has antibacterial and antiseptic properties. It’s good for your skin. In higher doses, like a paste made with lavender oil, it will heal some skin conditions like eczema.”
“No kidding…”
She paused, her expression concerned. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I can’t believe that you not only make your own soap, but that it’s medicinal as well.”
Both were silent, watching as Elliot pulled onto the highway. He turned to her. “Is it hard?”
Confused, she studied his face. “Is the soap hard?”
“No,” he laughed. “Is making it hard.”
“Oh. No, it’s like cooking anything, really. Measure carefully. Don’t burn it.”
He shook his head. “You amaze me, you really do.”
She snorted. “You’re easily amazed.”
“Maybe. Can you make dish soap and laundry soap too?”
Lizzie dug in her purse for change. “This is a toll road up to the interstate. And yes, I make laundry soap. But not from lavender.”
Carefully pulling up to the tollbooth, Elliot brought the car to a stop and took the change she offered. As the window whirred down, his eyebrows lowered in thought. He leaned out the window to toss the coins in the steel funnel, then turned back to her. “What, pray tell, do you make laundry soap from?”
She tucked her purse back under her feet. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?” he asked, merging back into traffic as they picked up speed.
“Because you’ll think I’m crazy.”
He laughed. “Too late.”
With a snort she looked out her window.
“Come on, Lizzie, I’ll be nice, I promise. Tell me.”
She sighed. “I use soap berries.” Against her will, her shoulders hunched as she waited for his response, but he remained silent. She turned to him in question, but he was staring out the windshield with both hands on the wheel. “No comment?”
“I’m thinking,” he said. “I keep getting a visual of crunch berries, like in the cereal. Probably not the same?”
She giggled. “No, not the same.”
He rubbed one hand across the back of his neck and shifted in the driver seat. “I always tell myself you’re not going to shock me, then you do it anyway. Okay, lay it on me. What are soap berries?”
She didn’t reply, her expression dubious.
He did the upside-down, come-on wave for her to continue. “You can’t leave me hanging now, say it.”
She sighed again, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in soap. “Soap berries are actually the fruit from a tree with a long scientific name, but most people just call them soap berry trees.”
“Of course they do.”
She tossed him a dirty look and continued. “Soap berries contain saponin, it’s a surfactant. Surfactants work into fabric and suspend dirt so it can be rinsed away. Most laundry soaps you buy contain chemical surfactants.”
He shook his head. “How do you know this stuff?”
She cocked her chin up a notch. “I’m actually pretty smart.”
With a smile he reached for her hand. “That’s obvious. I guess I just don’t understand how I’ve lived all these years and I have no idea about this stuff.”
She shrugged. “I’ve done research because many people are allergic to the chemicals in soap you buy at the store. It’s part of my job.”
He nodded. “Where do you look to learn about…say… soap berries?”
“I found it when I was studying Ayurvedic medicine, from India.”
His eyebrows rose. “Okay…”
“Soap berries actually have all sort of uses like inhibiting tumor growth and curing migraines, but most people in the U.S. don’t know anything about Ayurvedic medicine.”
* * *
Boggled once again by Lizzie’s knowledge and abilities, Elliot had nothing to say. Maybe she truly was a gypsy, because she’d cast a spell over him. However, her allure had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with respect and admiration. Well, that and sexual attraction, of course, he admitted to himself.
The banter about soap turned to other healing medicinal herbs that Lizzie used for skin and hair, and before she knew it they were nearing Pittsburgh. She turned to Elliot, her expression suspicious. “Well, aren’t you the sneaky one.”
He glanced from her to the freeway and back. “What did I do?”
She smiled, her eyes warm. “We’re almost there and I haven’t thought of my mother once.”
He shrugged, then craned his neck to look past her so he could change lanes. “You’re a great conversationalist.”
“Whatever,” she snorted.
Once confident he was in the correct lane to exit, Elliot chuckled. “Maybe I know how it is…”
Her head whipped back to stare at him. “You have an overbearing mother?”
“Father,” he corrected, his expression serious.
Lizzie thought for a long moment. “You work with him, don’t you?”
Nodding, he stared out the windshield. “Yes, he’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“Do you disagree often?”
He considered her question. “No, not really,” he finally answered. “I’ve never really had reason to confront him about much.”
Lizzie frowned. “Must be nice.”
The car slowed as they exited the freeway. “This place is supposed to be up here on the right,” Elliot said. “Holy sheepskin!”
Lizzie peered out the windshield. “What? What is it?”
“I had no idea…” Elliot muttered, his face blank with disbelief.
Lizzie saw it then, the largest flea market in the western side of the state. The parking lot alone was gigantic, and a crowd of shoppers surged through the gathering like ants over an anthill. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Wow!”
“Wow is right,” Elliot mumbled, pulling into the lot. “We’ll have to park a mile away.”
“That’s okay, I don’t mind,” Lizzie assured him, craning her neck, anxious to see everything at once.
After circling for several minutes, Elliot finally settled on a parking spot and came around to open Lizzie’s door. The couple made their way toward the chaos, Elliot with long smooth strides and Lizzie bounding along at his side, excited to get into the center of the action.
* * *
The antique dry sink, carefully wrapped in the blanket from Elliot’s trunk, lay on its side on the back seat. Glancing back to be sure it was real, Lizzie grinned, then turned and relaxed into the plush seat of his car. As dry sinks went, it wasn’t large, but the patina and age on the piece had been exactly what she was looking for. The cabinet would be perfect for multiple uses: a dry bar, a plant stand, a place to show off her vintage crocks… and that antique percolator! She beamed just thinking of the little pot, wrapped and bagged at her feet. The pint-sized copper treasure, complete with the kerosene burner underneath, was a find for sure. Imagine finding one with the spigot still intact! The thing was adorable, no doubt about it.
Half the fun of the day, though, had been watching Elliot. His amazement and confusion were obvious, but he’d been a good sport, never complaining, always willing to venture down another endless aisle of booths. He’d asked her questions and scratched his head more than a few times, but in true chivalrous fashion, he’d carried the dry sink all the way to the car. The biggest surprise to Lizzie had been his fascination with gadgets and mechanisms of all sorts. His curiosity had forced him to lift and fiddle with oddball thing-a-ma-bobs of all sizes. All in all, he’d appeared to enjoy the flea market as much as she had. Once again, Lizzie was shocked that her time with him had been so pleasant.
She turned her head to silently study the man. He was lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. What was it about him that drew her in? Sure, he was sexy and smart and funny… And those were good reasons, but she’d been determined to keep her distance––yet she hadn’t.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned to stare out at the forested hills speeding past. Was she really so needy that she’d fall into the arms of the first man who showed any interest? She didn’t think so; after all, she’d managed to stay away from men for over a year back in Boston. But the dark thought kept crowding into the back of her mind, flashing an irritating distraction, like latecomers to a concert who spill light from the lobby through a dark room as they sneak into the back.
Given her mother’s tirade, she’d admit that she was vulnerable. That perhaps she needed a shoulder to lean on, cry on. She thought about her and Elliot tangled in her bedsheets the morning before. She’d been needy all right, but not in a vulnerable way.
The clicking of the blinker brought Lizzie back to the present, and she
turned her head to Elliot in question.
“Gotta get gas,” he explained, pulling off the freeway.
Lizzie was glad, the truck stop ahead would offer a restroom break.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the gas pump, and Elliot climbed out.
Carefully extracting her purse from under the bag containing the percolator, Lizzie climbed from the car and stretched. A stiff evening breeze tugged at her curls, tossing them in her face as she headed toward the convenience store. To her left she noticed several cars parked in the lot next to the truck stop. For Sale signs were taped in the windows of the various cars and trucks, but one caught Lizzie’s attention, and she jolted to a stop. “Oh my gosh…”
Parked between an old Ford and an ancient Honda was a VW bus. As she headed toward the bus, the breeze picked up, flapping her skirt against her legs. Wrapping her shawl tighter for warmth, she stopped three feet from the bus, her eyes filled with wonder. Slowly, as if not to frighten the van away, she moved forward, one hand coming out to smooth along the front of the two-tone pink-and-white vehicle. Its round eyeball headlights and smiling chrome bumper gleamed in the setting sun. Even the chrome mirrors and luggage rack looked original, causing Lizzie’s heartbeat to pick up speed. The bus had obviously been cherished or refurbished, maybe both. Cupping her hand beside her eyes, she leaned closer to look in the side window. After glimpsing the interior she knew for sure. It was fate that she’d come this way, found this bus, and she had to have it.
* * *
Placing his wallet back into his pocket, Elliot watched Lizzie circle the VW bus. “What is she up to now…”
The pump dinged and he replaced the nozzle, then rounded the front of the car to head her way. As he approached she looked up, her smile radiant. Caught off guard that Lizzie was enraptured with an old Volkswagen, he couldn’t help being pleased by her excitement. She seemed happier than a little girl on Christmas morning, and nothing brightened his mood like her smile.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 74
