He nodded slowly.
“I’d have to see what you’ve got to tell you whether it’s worth getting hand-quilted. How old is it? Was it hand-pieced? What’s it look like?”
His expression was mildly befuddled. “Well, it’s different than this. It’s only two colors, for one thing. Dark blue and white.”
She nodded encouragement.
“Little squares and big squares and...” He seemed to struggle to find the right words and finally shrugged as if giving up. “They form a pattern.”
Allie laughed. “There are quilts with one big picture in the middle or a giant star, something like that. Otherwise, a pieced quilt by its very nature ends up with symmetrical blocks.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not new.” He considered her, looking a little wary. Allie had the feeling he wasn’t much of a talker and probably not given to confiding in many people, and especially not a total stranger. But after a minute his face relaxed, as if he’d made up his mind. “I’ve got a foster son—he’s fourteen—and supposedly his great-great-grandmother made this quilt top. The story is that her arthritis had gotten so bad she couldn’t finish.”
Intrigued now by the quilt and not only the man, Allie calculated. “Um...if he’s right about the great-greats, it’s probably at least eighty years old, then. Maybe a hundred.”
“That might be.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Your work is beautiful,” he said simply. “I want you to do Sean’s quilt.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “I won’t make any promises. I do take on a project like that once in a while, but it has to be something special. Interesting enough for me to want to give it a great deal of time.”
“I understand,” he said, and looked as if he really did. “I’ll bring it to you.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him, let the thimble fall from her forefinger and held out her hand. “I’m Allie Wright. This is my store.”
“Nolan Radek.”
His large hand engulfed hers. She felt thick calluses, and saw nicks and healed wounds on the back of his fingers and hand. No banker or attorney here; these hands were well used, as hers were, though in a different way.
He didn’t seem to want to let her hand go. And for some strange reason, she wasn’t in any hurry, either. His grip was so warm and solid. They looked into each other’s eyes, neither of them smiling anymore. She’d swear she could hear her heart beating, as if it had taken flight. Breathless, Allie knew she’d never responded to a man in this way. And she didn’t even know him.
He finally released her, his reluctance palpable. He did clear his throat now. “It was good to meet you, Ms. Wright.”
“Allie.”
“I can come back tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m here until five.”
He nodded, studied her face one more time as if memorizing it, then turned and walked out. She saw his head swiveling as he went, as if he wasn’t so much uncomfortable now as intrigued by the raw material that went into a quilt like the one she was working on. If he’d been a woman, she would have guessed that she’d have a new student and customer. Of course, there were men who quilted, even if she didn’t know one, but...not Nolan Radek, she thought. Those large hands weren’t made for itty-bitty snippets of fabric or a teeny tiny needle.
She wondered what he did do with them that had earned him so many wounds. And then wondered what those hands would feel like on a woman’s body.
On her.
Her face hot again, she was grateful for the sound of the bell and the chatter of women’s voices. Leaving the needle and thimble where they were, Allie went to wait on her customers.
* * *
USUALLY EAGER TO start work come morning, Nolan got Sean out the door and poured himself a second cup of coffee while watching out the kitchen window as the school bus stopped out front then lumbered into motion again and out of sight along the winding country road.
He sat back down at the table, amused at himself. He’d asked his foster son for permission to take the quilt top into town for the shop owner to see, but he hadn’t said, I’m aiming to be there the very second she unlocks the door.
He and Sean hadn’t talked about girls yet. At his age, the boy had to be thinking about them a whole lot, but chances were good he’d be stunned if he knew his new foster dad had developed an instant crush on a pretty woman. Nolan thought it might be interesting to see how Sean would handle him dating.
Might be interesting to date, Nolan reflected. It had been a while. He’d never been very good at it. Women didn’t like having to wring every word out of a man.
Of course, there was no saying Allie Wright wouldn’t turn out to be married or at least committed already. Or not interested in Nolan. He didn’t believe that, though. The one moment, when it seemed as if neither of them could look away from the other, had to be mutual, didn’t it?
Instead of opening his workshop, he swept the entire downstairs of the farmhouse then dusted besides. Had to do it once in a while. He clock-watched the entire time, grabbing his wallet, keys and the bagged quilt top at quarter to the hour.
West Fork wasn’t a big town. It had been built on a bluff looking down on a fertile river valley in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains north of Seattle. Historically, the roots were agriculture and logging. Logging was pretty well dead as an industry in these parts, and agriculture was heading that way.
A few stubborn dairy farmers still hung on, and corn, peas and strawberries were the big crops on land that was too prone to flooding to ever be buildable. Otherwise, West Fork was increasingly becoming a bedroom community for Everett and even Seattle, as new developments were springing up on the outskirts of town. The Boeing plant in Everett was only a forty-minute commute.
Chain stores had popped up out by the freeway, but downtown had kept its character. False-fronted buildings housed antiques stores as well as an old-fashioned hardware store, real estate office, weekly newspaper office, barbershop and salon. The bowling alley was a busy place. Nolan had heard the one-screen movie theater might have to close, because the conversion to digital was too expensive. But he couldn’t remember when he’d noticed the quilt shop open—could’ve been here for a couple of years, he supposed. He was sorry he hadn’t had reason to wander into it a long time ago.
A parking spot was vacant right in front of the store. The Open sign hung in the door. He imagined it was still swinging from Allie having flipped it over.
When he stepped inside, the bell on the door rang. Today, she was up front behind an old-fashioned counter with a cash register. She looked up and smiled.
“Oh, good. You came back.”
“Said I would.”
Something crossed her face. A shadow? “People don’t always mean it.”
He nodded, agreeing even though when he said something, he did mean it.
She saw the grocery bag he held clutched in his hand. “You have it with you.”
Nolan only nodded again.
“Why don’t you bring it in back and we can lay it out on top of the quilt I have in the frame?” She came around the end of the counter and started toward the back of the store, Nolan following.
He hadn’t expected that same punch of attraction; after all, now he knew what she looked like. But there it was anyway. He hadn’t said much yet partly because he was having trouble catching his breath.
Damn, she was pretty. She looked... He didn’t know. Russian or Eastern European, with very dark, shiny hair and milk-pale skin. He doubted she could tan if she wanted. Perfectly sculpted cheekbones would make her beautiful even as an old lady. She wasn’t tall—perhaps five foot two or three at most—with the finest bone structure he’d ever seen. She had a long neck, exposed by the way she wore her hair, up in some kind of bun on the crown of her head. Like ballerinas wore theirs, he thought.
Nolan frowned. That’s what she looked like. A dancer. Graceful. Even her walk was a little different. The toes of her feet pointed out
in a way that should have been ducklike but wasn’t.
And then there were her eyes, a rich mossy green with glints of gold.
He was looking into those eyes right now, Nolan realized. She’d come to a stop by her quilt frame and was waiting patiently for him to do something besides gawk at her.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, holding out the bag.
Her cheeks were slightly pink when she took it. Unless it was his imagination, she was careful not to brush his hand with hers.
She took the quilt top out then drew a breath of what sounded like delight. She unfolded it, studied the back then gently spread it atop her own quilt.
Nolan looked at her face, not at the quilt. He could tell she felt the way he did when he found an unusual and beautiful slab of granite, one he could do something special with.
“Burgoyne Surrounded,” Allie said softly. “This is a mid-nineteenth-century pattern, supposedly based on a victory by colonial soldiers over British forces led by General Burgoyne during the Revolutionary War.” She glanced up. “All of which is probably apocryphal, since the pattern actually originated so much later. It’s a nice concept, though. Perfect for a boy. And how gorgeously made!” She lifted a corner and invited him to peer closely. “It was hand-pieced, and with incredibly tiny stitches. Whoever made this was an artist.”
“Will you do it?”
She lifted her gaze to him. “Yes. Oh, yes. With pleasure.” She hesitated. “I will have to charge you.”
“I assumed you would. This is how you make your living.”
“That’s right. Well, primarily with the shop, but I also sell my quilts.”
“Do you.” He’d noticed a couple draped in the window and one large one hung on a wall.
When she told him what she typically asked, he nodded. “That’s reasonable.”
“This quilt is sized for a double bed,” she said. “It would be possible to add a border if you want it queen-sized.”
Nolan thought about it. “Seems we should leave it the way it was meant to be.”
Allie smiled with approval. “I agree. Well. I’ll look forward to this. I may start right away at home. I have a frame there, too. Usually I have one quilt going there, one here.”
“Thank you. Sean will be excited.”
The bell rang up front and he realized someone had come in. He felt something like panic. Somehow he’d thought they would have more to discuss.
“I’m in back,” she called to the newcomer.
“No hurry,” the woman said. “I need to pick out my fabric.”
Allie folded and rolled the quilt top. “May I keep the bag?”
“Sure. Of course.” He was desperate to say something attention grabbing, but his tongue felt as if it had swollen in his mouth.
“There’s room for fancy quilting in these larger squares—” she touched the fabric the way he touched stone “—but my inclination is to keep it simple. Diagonal lines. Unless you wanted something different?” She lifted those green eyes to his.
“I trust you to do the right thing.”
She smiled, making her more than pretty. Beautiful. He couldn’t look away.
“Thank you,” she said. “Oh! I’d better get your phone number, so I can let you know when I’m done.”
He wanted her phone number. He cast a desperate look toward the new customer, who had her back turned and seemed engrossed in a row of calicos in various shades of blue.
“Allie...maybe you’re married or, uh, involved with someone....”
The prettiest pink he’d ever seen infused her cheeks. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Then...is there any chance you’d have dinner with me?”
Her eyes widened. “Tonight?”
He’d have liked nothing better, but he thought he’d better prepare Sean. “Maybe not tonight,” he said reluctantly. “Sean—my foster son—will come home expecting me to feed him. Does it have to be a weekend, or would tomorrow night work?”
“Tomorrow night would be lovely. Of course you can’t abandon your son without warning.”
He half expected her to want to meet him at the restaurant, but instead she readily offered her address, which he thought was in Old Town.
“It’s the carriage house,” Allie said, as if reading his mind. “The owners converted it into an apartment. I was lucky to get it.”
He nodded. “Six?”
“Perfect. I’ll look forward to it. But now I’d better go help that poor woman.”
Feeling big and clumsy, Nolan said, “Sorry. I’ll, uh, get out of your way.”
Allie laid her hand on his arm. Only for an instant, lightly, but he felt the touch down to the soles of his feet. “I’m glad you came. Glad you brought Sean’s quilt top. And really glad you invited me to dinner. You’re definitely not in my way.”
His shoulders let go of some of the tension. “Tomorrow, then.”
If no one else had been in the store, he might have succumbed to temptation and kissed her. As it was, he couldn’t. He only nodded and left, trying real hard to think about the Baltic brown granite countertop he was finishing for the Olsens’ kitchen and not about the color of Allie’s eyes.
* * *
“YOU SOUND like you’ve had a good week,” Allie’s mother commented. “Milk? Juice?”
Allie understood the segue, since Mom had the refrigerator door open. “Milk, please. Shall I drain the noodles?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A minute later, they were seated at the table in the dining room in Mom’s house. She was renting, too—they’d never owned a home since everything changed—but the rambler was newish and at least double the size of Allie’s one-bedroom, second-story apartment. Mom seemed content with it. She always insisted she wanted to have an extra bedroom available should Allie ever need it.
Allie waited until they’d dished up the stroganoff and green beans before commenting on her week.
“Receipts have been really good,” she said. “Saturday a group of ten women came in. They were from south King County, and they said they make regular expeditions from quilt shop to quilt shop looking for different fabrics. Every single one of them bought something, and two bought enough to piece big quilts. They all promised to come back.”
“That’s fabulous.”
“And, um, I met an interesting man.”
Mom looked up in surprise, her fork halfway to her mouth. “A man?”
“I think I’m insulted.” Allie tried to keep her tone light. “Yes, a man. Is it that unlikely a guy would be interested in me?”
“Where on earth would you meet one?” her mother asked simply.
Allie wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I’ll concede that you don’t get a lot of single men in a quilt shop. As it happens, this one did come into the store.”
Of course she had to explain. “I’ve already picked out fabric to back this boy’s quilt. It’s going to be stunning, Mom! I suspect it’s even older than we first guessed. Late nineteenth century, I think.”
Her mother laughed. “So the man is interesting because he brought you an intriguing quilt. I should have realized.”
“Well...I’m having dinner with him, too.”
Mom’s eyebrows went up. “Do you know anything at all about him?”
“He’s quiet and seems nice, and he has a fourteen-year-old foster son. Which suggests compassion.”
“Do you even know what he does for a living?”
“Nope,” Allie said cheerfully. “But I’ll be able to tell you more about him after tomorrow.”
Mom set down her fork. She waited until Allie’s eyes met hers. “You know this always makes me nervous.”
How could she help but know? And, deep inside, a small coal of resentment flared. “I’m always careful,” she said, trying to hide what she felt.
“Of course you are.” Her mother smiled at her. “I know it’s hard. I have the same problem, meeting new people. Of course I trust you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
�
�No, that’s all right.” But it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Allie was twenty-eight years old. She had now spent fifteen years of her life lying to everyone she met. Lying even to herself most of the time. But she had done it, because she had to. While she understood her mother’s fear, she also resented the implication that she had a big mouth. Or maybe that she was stupid.
“Well, you have a good time,” Mom said. “Goodness, most dates don’t lead to anything meaningful anyway! Chances are you’ll find you don’t have a thing in common.”
That was true, of course, but Allie was struck by the fact that Mom sounded as if she hoped nothing came of this date. Was her focus so entirely on protecting their secret that she didn’t want her daughter to fall in love and get married and have children? Because...well, was it possible to fall in love and start a life with someone while still keeping such a huge secret? Apprehension chilled her.
Later, after she’d gone home, Allie trimmed the selvage from the backing fabric of Sean’s quilt, then cut equal lengths, and thought about those disturbing feelings. Why had she never noticed before that her mother always said something like that whenever Allie started dating a guy? Even when she met a girl or woman she thought might be a friend, her mother had discouraging words, although to a lesser extent. And why had she never minded so much before?
Because I think Nolan might be different. The knowledge whispered through her. Because I felt something yesterday when he came in, and again this morning, that I’ve never felt before. As if it was more than attraction. As if they’d formed an instant connection.
Allie sat at her machine and began to stitch together the lengths of navy fabric studded with tiny white stars. She shook her head. Silly, that’s what she was being. Mom was right—by the time the waiter brought the check tomorrow night, she’d probably be bored to death and wonder what she’d ever seen in Nolan Radek, aside from those shockingly blue eyes.
A connection. She laughed at herself. Wow. Save the worries until she actually did fall in love.
CHAPTER TWO
WAS SEAN REALLY okay with this? Nolan couldn’t decide. But, damn it, he was entitled, wasn’t he? He hadn’t signed on to become a monk, just because he’d taken in a kid.
Anything for Her Page 2
