“That’s what I heard then, but I don’t know the details. He’s never mentioned it.” She shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“He always seemed the small-town type until he decided to join the Coast Guard. I was surprised he left.”
Amanda put the plate away. “I guess so.”
“It’s just weird for me. First he leaves Ragland for the Coast Guard, and now he’s a single dad running the Antique Market. He’s changed.”
“We all grow up some time.”
“I guess.” Callie picked up a fork to wash. “Maybe I have, too. I like to think so.”
“You have, and remember, he was under a lot of pressure back then. He had a girlfriend everybody loved, baseball scouts coming around and he was only in high school.”
Callie looked out of the window over the sink. “He joined the Coast Guard and ran off to the beach instead of accepting the offer to play for that Nashville minor league, dumping me along the way. The whole town was pretty put out, not just me. They figured he’d put Ragland on the map.”
“Yes, but he’s still sweet, just quiet and... I think unassuming is the word. I guess the minor leagues wasn’t what he wanted.”
“And neither was I.”
Amanda nudged Callie with her elbow. “Maybe the timing just wasn’t right. You ought to come to Todd’s softball practices. Lots of cute guys hang around.”
“No,” Callie shot back. “Mark would be there, too. I much prefer a city boy, thank you.”
Amanda laughed. “Yeah right, city mouse.”
“There’s nothing wrong with city life. I was very happy there—most of the time.”
“I know you think so,” Amanda relented. “I just don’t believe it’s you. I’ve seen you on the lake, and you like your blue jeans better than high heels.”
Callie shrugged. “Why can’t I have them both?”
* * *
Monday morning Jake Barton arrived early. Mark let the plumber in and showed him the disaster in the corner of the store. “I came in Saturday, and water was streaming from the joint in the ceiling, so I turned off all the water, and it’s been drying out ever since.”
The heavyset man with the dark goatee looked up. “Yeah, I see that,” Jake drawled. He put his hands on his hips. The ceiling tile had been removed, and Lois had helped Mark pick up all the wet, mushy pieces. “Did you tape it up?”
“Best I could do. I could climb up there and do it myself, but I want to make sure it gets done right and that I don’t miss anything.”
“Yeah, I can fix that. Easy,” Jake said. His pale face flushed, and Mark thought he looked pleased.
“I’m going to try to run this through insurance,” Mark said, “but I’m not sure if they’ll take care of it. And I doubt the bank will cover this, even though they’re technically the landlord.”
“Good thinking.” Jake ran his fingers across his stubbly chin. “What’s upstairs?”
“It’s just storage space, but there’s a small bathroom from when someone lived up there a while back.”
“Mind if I have a look?”
“No, of course.” Mark motioned toward the back of the store.
Jake called over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll get her taken care of.”
“Good. Thanks.” Mark ambled back to the front counter just as the avocado-green phone on it rang. He hoped it was business and not the bank.
“Antique Market.”
“Mark?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone and then a woman took a breath. “This is Callie Hargrove.”
Her face flashed in his mind and something inside of him clicked. “Yes?”
He couldn’t believe she would pester him about the spoons again. At the same time, he felt strangely happy to hear from her. Mark leaned over the counter on one elbow. “They’re still not for sale.”
“I’m not calling about the spoons,” she replied in an impatient voice.
He felt his grin widen. He couldn’t help himself. “Then what can I do for you, Callie Hargrove?”
“Martin Realty has a farmhouse down near Bucksnort...” she stopped and giggled at the name of the road “...and it’s been flipped.”
“Are you selling it?” Mark asked.
“My sister’s getting ready to as the agent. I’m staging. It’s empty, and I need to pick up a hutch or a tall buffet. Just a few fillers.”
“Okay.” Hope burned in his chest. He could use a few big sales, and he sure didn’t mind seeing her again. “Why don’t you come down after lunch?”
“Great.” She sounded cheery. “Do you have a delivery service? If not I can use Todd’s truck.”
“I do.”
“I just have a little SUV. I mean, it works for some things but...”
“Delivery is no problem,” Mark said.
“That’d be super. I’ll see you after lunch then,” Callie said. She sounded a bit breathless, like she meant it as a question. “And hey, about the spoons—”
“They’re still not for sale, but I’ll be here.” A thump overhead jerked his attention up to the ceiling. It sounded like Jake was tearing the bathroom apart. “I need to go.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.” To his relief, she hung up with no awkward pause.
Why would it be awkward? he asked himself as he headed upstairs. She was just an old friend. Todd’s sister-in-law.
The only regret he had from high school.
* * *
The bell over the door jingled and Callie looked around the Antique Market for Mark. She hadn’t purposely decided to come to the shop again, but she needed the inventory. Determined to keep it professional, she took a deep breath and started working her way through the aisles, trying but failing to look over her shoulder at the spoon set.
She eyed the lovely spoons dangling like forbidden fruit on the wall, then turned her attention to the front corner by the window.
A bookcase filled with hardbacks stood on one side and pieces of mismatched china were on a stand beside it. She walked over and checked out the teacups and saucers on display. Some were chipped, while others looked in good condition. They were English except for the Blue Ridge plates from Appalachia. She picked one up and studied the hand-painted blossoms. Beautiful. She bent over and picked up a doll.
“Hello?”
Her heart trembled when she recognized his voice, but she ignored it and turned around and held out the doll. “Why do you have this thrown in an old cardboard box?”
Mark raised a brow. “It’s a doll.”
“Yes, but it’s a collectible. This looks really old, and there’s no wear and tear.”
“I know.” He walked over, calm and unruffled in his khakis and blue denim work shirt. “I don’t really do toys, but my daughter likes to play with them. Someone donated it for free.”
Callie struggled to keep her face impassive as a thousand questions about his daughter swirled in her mind. “Some of them are worth a lot. Have you checked the books or auction sites to see how much it’s worth?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I have furniture to move. That value I know.”
Callie motioned toward the shelves and dishes. “Your Blue Ridge china is underpriced, and you should value them at the going market rate and display them better.”
“Lois handles most of those items.”
“Oh.” Callie smiled and wondered if Lois was a hundred years old. “I didn’t mean to tell you how to run your business. I just hate to see things undervalued.”
“I’ll check into it. Thanks.”
She held out the doll, and he stared for a second, then took it from her and carried it back to the counter. Unable to help herself, Callie added, “If your daughter really treasures it, maybe you should put it away for her.”
Mark set down the toy. “What do you think of her?”
His question caught her off guard. “Of your daughter?”
“I mean,” he probed, “you didn’t seem surprised. By her existence.”
She gave a sharp nod. She was here for furniture, not to dredge up painful memories.
He waited for her to speak.
Callie cleared her throat. She found the shining spoons soothing to look at instead of Mark’s familiar blue gaze. “I heard about her when you moved back home. I think she was a baby then.”
“It must have surprised you.”
She smiled faintly. “No, not that you had a family. I mean, it happens eventually.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “I guess.” He shifted his gaze away like he didn’t want to look her in the face. “It happened fast. I mean...it was an impulsive relationship, and we eloped, and then it didn’t work out, but by then Hadley was already on the way.”
Callie studied him. His cheeks looked flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. It was all she could think to say, but she meant it.
Mark straightened and glanced toward the back of the store.
Her eyes scanned the room for the pieces that had caught her eye last week. There was a hole in the ceiling in the back corner, and she saw an industrial fan. “You have a leak.”
“Yes, last weekend.”
Callie scrunched her brows. “Oh, what a mess.” She realized the hutch was gone. “There was a tall walnut hutch back there last week. Circa 1940s.”
“It has some water damage on top.”
“Oh, I could fix it.” Callie felt a surge of excitement. Maybe she could get a discount and turn it into something beautiful.
“Do you want to see it?”
She nodded.
Mark walked her to the back of the store. Footsteps echoed overhead. “Do you have a ghost?” she asked.
“My plumber’s upstairs.”
“Oh.”
Mark walked over to a tarp and gave it a tug. The hutch was pushed up against the wall, and stacks of cardboard boxes rested on either side of it like sentinels. It gleamed in the gloom of the overhead dim light bulb.
“You covered it up wet? It’ll mildew.” Callie put her hands on her hips and looked it over.
“No, it won’t. I let it dry and ran a dehumidifier back here. See?” He motioned toward a small unit plugged in outside his office door.
“Yeah, but...” Callie shrugged. She crouched down and opened the lower cabinet doors. A whiff of musty air mixed with furniture polish hit her nose. The shelves were sturdy. “It’s in good condition.”
“I was asking four hundred, but I’d take three.”
“Three? Really?” Callie frowned. It wasn’t too bad a price. “With the water damage and the work I’m going to have to do on it, I think two fifty would be fairer.”
“What work? It just needs a little touch-up on the top. You can’t even see it.”
“It didn’t run down the back?” Callie tried to peer behind it.
“Well, yes, a little I suppose. How about two seventy-five?”
Callie calculated the budget that the realty office had issued her. It wasn’t her money, but overspending was one of the reasons she had some debt. She was learning to curb her impulsiveness, though. “Fine.” She ran her hand along the top shelves.
“What are you going to do with it anyway?” Mark folded his arms and watched her.
She took out her phone and pulled up pictures of projects that she kept in a folder marked Samples. Choosing the last hall table she’d magically brought from the 1960s into the new millennium, she held out her phone.
His eyes widened. “Blue?”
“It’s chalk paint using an ombré technique.” She pointed at the furniture legs. “See how it fades from blue into white and rust, then back down to the original stain at the feet?”
He looked horrified. “It looks psychedelic.”
Callie dropped the phone back in her purse with a small huff. “The table’s colorful and rustic, and for your information, everyone prefers blues and greens right now. Shabby chic on steroids.”
His eyes shaded with doubt. “I’ve seen it in fancy boutiques and craft stores, but I didn’t know it was that popular.”
“You’re old school.” Callie smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. To be honest, some pieces I don’t change. They’re too beautiful, too regal. Some things just need to be cleaned up and left alone.”
Mark nodded. “That’s how I feel.”
Callie looked back at the hutch. “This old hutch needs a new life, though. I’m thinking...” She backed away and studied it. “White. It suits a farmhouse. We’ll do white and add some black or bronzed iron fittings.”
Mark didn’t seem as outraged at the idea of white paint. He studied the hutch, then shifted his gaze back to her. He seemed to be thinking something entirely different behind his eyes when he muttered, “White would be nice. I’m sure you’ll do right by it.”
She chuckled. “Can I look around some more?”
“Sure thing.” He stepped back and let her pass. She led the way, feeling self-conscious. She was suddenly worried about how she looked.
She tried not to walk too fast to the front of the store. Mark returned to the register. Curious to explore, she rummaged through wooden bread boxes, paper towel holders and weird-looking farm implements until she found a brass basket.
It looked like a giant potato chip with a handle. She held it up. Mark was at the counter flipping through a book that held baseball cards.
“For carrying logs, right?”
He glanced up and nodded. “It’s mostly for show, but sturdy enough to carry wood.”
“I’ve seen these. They’re cool.” Callie lowered the basket and let it swing in her hand to feel the weight. “What era?”
He was still watching her when she looked up. “Uh...that one’s about 1970s, but they’ve been around forever.”
She met his gaze. “I’ll take it.”
“Great.”
Callie headed to the front of the store and saw a tall square table handcrafted with narrow legs. Midcentury. Perfect. She’d take that, too.
“Do you still like baseball cards?” she called over her shoulder.
“I do, yes, but I’m going to sell these.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Business is slow this year.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re still playing then.”
There was such a long silence, she looked toward the counter. Mark redirected his attention to her from his book. “It’s just softball these days.”
“It’s something, though, right? I was never good in sports, remember?”
“Yes, but you tried.”
Callie picked up a silver candlestick holder that needed polishing. “I can’t even walk straight half the time.”
He laughed out loud, the first time she’d heard it since she’d been back, and it sounded deep and sweet, resurrecting memories—and feelings—she’d thought she’d erased forever.
“Sports aren’t for everyone.” Mark closed the book and crossed the room while she studied dozens of candlestick holders all over the place. “As long as you get some exercise, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“I still love canoeing,” she blurted, then cringed. Where had that come from?
“Really? Yeah, that was kind of our thing, wasn’t it?”
She tried to pretend he hadn’t said it. “Actually, I like kayaking, too. I did a lot of it up in Tennessee.”
“Those are sports, and you were always good at them.”
She smiled. “I guess.” He stood close, and it made her feel an awareness that she liked as much as she had at sixteen. Forcing her brain to focus, she pointed at the small table behind him. “I’ll take the table, t
oo. Fifty bucks?”
“It’s marked seventy-five.” He clearly didn’t need to see the price tag.
“I’m not sure it’s worth that but—”
“It’s worth it.” He slanted his head as if trying to figure her out.
She held up her hands in surrender. “I have to try. It’s part of the job.”
He chuckled. “I’ll throw in a few candlestick holders.”
“You do that.” They held each other’s eyes for a second, and Callie realized her heart was beating so loud in her ears that it drowned out the fan. “Okay, I’ll take the hutch, the log carrier and the table for today, and I’m going to buy a half dozen of your candlestick holders.”
He looked pleased but still said, “For one house?”
She shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”
Grinning, Mark led her back to the counter and rang up her purchases.
“By the way,” Callie said, remembering the vacant shop nearby, “do you know what the plans are for that storefront on the corner?”
He looked up. “No, not really. There used to be a dry cleaner’s there.” He held out the receipt.
Callie stuffed it into her back pocket and held out her hand. “I was just curious. I’m looking for a place to open a boutique.”
“Is that so?”
“If I can manage it. Good doing business with you.”
He eyed her hand for a moment like he didn’t think she was serious, as if no one was ever friendly with him anymore, but he reached out and gave it a small shake. “Pleasure.”
His hand felt warm and safe and wonderful. She wanted to hold it forever. With a start, she pulled away and looked out the window like she needed to check on her car.
“I’ll deliver the hutch after I lock up here,” he said. “The train depot, right?”
Collecting herself, Callie nodded. There were no words in her brain at the moment.
He waited for her response.
“There’s a storage room around back on the track side. I’ll meet you back there,” she stammered.
“Okay. See you after five.”
“Good deal.” All of a sudden a tsunami of affection washed over her. She darted out the front door before he could tell.
His Daughter's Prayer (Love Inspired) Page 4
