“No, I’m sorry, but what were you thinking? Black? Iron? Do they all get orange jumpsuits for pajamas?”
“It was on sale and in stock, and you weren’t there to help pick something that sang to me to make sure the loft has a voice.”
She smiled at the tease and went to the bed, running her hand over the rails. “Can you return it?”
He came right up to her, bare chest, boxers and all. “Are you out of your mind? It took me five hours to assemble the thing. The instructions were in Chinese.”
“You should have called me,” she said, fighting the urge to let her gaze drop over his chiseled torso for another leisurely look.
“You read Chinese?”
“I would never have let you assemble this. And I would have…” She lost the battle and looked. “Yeah, okay.” She stepped back and turned to the bed. “I don’t know what I’ll do with that, I mean, this.”
When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him, catching the sly smile. “So how’d you sleep…Jane?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Jadyn,” she corrected.
“Not when we’re alone.” He crossed his arms, which just bunched his biceps and distracted her.
“I slept fine. In your bed, if you don’t mind.”
He flicked a brow with interest. “I mind that I missed that.”
She walked around the bed and made a show of examining it. “We could probably do something military. You know, camo comforter, maybe.”
“Sure. Wrap the bastard in flag bunting if you want, but don’t make me disassemble it.”
She lifted the sleeping bag to reveal the hard metal rims that should hold a mattress. “Did you really sleep here?”
“Depends on how you define sleep. I was horizontal with my eyes closed, but…” He rubbed those whiskers furiously before stepping into jeans that were on the floor. “Not a lot of sleep. I’ll go hit the head and get dressed at home.”
“And Hildie? Will you drive me to her house? Maybe get me a number so I can call ahead because it’s early?”
“You don’t need a number. She runs an antique shop in town and lives there, literally. And, yes, I’ll drive you. But I’m not going souvenir hunting with you. I’ll drop you off and go get the lumber for the stairs. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
He grabbed keys, a wallet, and his phone from the floor and took one more long, scrutinizing look at her. “So how did you sleep in my bed?” he asked.
“Fine, but it was cold. Air comes through that window even when it’s closed. You should fix that.”
He laughed. “That’s my favorite thing about my bed. I usually open the window to sleep and get extra covers in the winter.”
“Oh.” Something about imagining him in bed, under layers of down, with crisp mountain air… “Well, you’re crazy,” she said on a laugh.
“No, I just hate rooms. They make me feel hemmed in and cut off.”
“Really? I love them. They make me feel comforted and safe.”
“Guess that’s why you’re an interior decorator and I’m a watersports guide.” He winked at her and opened the door, stepping outside and leaving her staring at the place where he’d been standing.
“Better be careful, Janie,” she whispered to herself, walking around the bed and forcing herself to think of something she could do to save this mess.
Not an hour later, her hopes were buoyed when they walked up to a pink-painted cottage-like storefront called Hildie’s House. The covered porch was crowded with knickknacks, random pieces of furniture, a display of Barbie dolls, and a rack of vintage clothing.
“Thrift shop or antique store?” Jane asked.
“Ground zero for town gossip, a place to get or get rid of anything you ever wanted, and guaranteed chocolate chip cookies on the counter for good kids.” He grinned at her. “Zane always got one. Every time.”
He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside, immediately coddled by the clutter and comfort of the place. It was a mess of inventory, no doubt about it, with chairs stacked on tables and at least six ornate oak breakfronts around the perimeter, each loaded with crystal, tea sets, and china. But in the center, three gaudy chandeliers hung over a fully laid out seating area with a velvet settee, a few mismatched—but precious—antique chairs, and a coffee table in the middle.
This room was utterly wonderful.
“This mess makes me crazy,” Adam whispered.
“I love it,” she admitted, turning slowly to drink it all in. “Somebody who really understands spatial design put this together.”
“Are you kidding? Hildie Fontana?”
“I’m right here!” a woman called from the back room. “One second!”
“Brace yourself,” Adam warned. “She’s a force of nature. And she talks a lot.”
“I heard that!” A woman stepped into the showroom with the flair of an aging starlet taking a bow on Broadway. “Adam Tucker, man of my dreams and fantasies.”
He laughed. “You say that to all the guys, Hildie.”
“Of course I do.” She came closer and offered two outstretched arms, each laden with bangles. She wore a multicolored caftan and had snow-white hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. “And it gives me the chance to hug you and shamelessly press your insanely hot body against me for a long and delicious moment.” She waggled heavily drawn brows like a professional cougar and flicked her fingers. “Come to Mama, gorgeous.”
He laughed, giving her a hug that was far less enthusiastic than the one he received. Then Hildie turned to Jane, clasped her hands, and let out a little whimper of joy. “And who do we have here?”
“Hildie, this is…” He glanced at Jane, hesitating for just a second and making her heart stop when she realized he just might use her real name.
She couldn’t take the chance. “Jadyn McAllister,” she said, extending her hand. “I love your store.”
“Oh, you’re too kind!” She clasped her hands to her chest in mock humility. “It’s just my little hobby, selling antiques. Mostly I talk to the locals and tourists. Would you like to sit and have tea?”
“No, not me,” Adam said quickly. “Jadyn is helping me finish the renovation of the boathouse, and my grandfather said you are the keeper of some memorabilia from the founders. Jane was wondering if she could take a look at it.”
“Oh Lord, answered prayers. I need the space and only really want about three things we use for Founders’ weekend. I’m the committee chair,” she added to Jane. “When I took over that job about twenty years ago, those men dumped more crap on me than I could stand and wouldn’t let me sell it. Then they all got so damn old they can’t remember who owns what, and they’d just fight about it if they did. After last month, I swore I would get rid of some of it.”
Adam seemed to be backing up with every word. “Then here’s your girl. I’m going to buy lumber.”
“Take a cookie on your way out.” She shooed him off and put a warm hand on Jane’s back when the door dinged with his departure. As soon as he was gone, she leaned closer and shot those expressive brows north in question. “Does he kiss as good as he looks?” she asked.
Jane felt blood rush to her face.
“Oh, I figured as much,” Hildie said with a clap of satisfaction. “I always had a little crush on his father, Sam. Have you met him?”
“Not yet, but he owns No Man’s Land, right?”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “A handsome man who can cook? Such a rare find. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in anyone, though. Poor thing. Wife up and left him high and dry. You know, I never really trusted that woman. And I guess I was right, huh? I mean, who leaves their kids and goes off to Hollywood?”
As intriguing as the question—and the subject—was, Jane didn’t want to climb into local gossip or Adam’s personal business. She knew enough about his mother to confirm she didn’t have her priorities in order, and the subject of mothers who abandoned kids was way too tender and too close to home.
She gave a cool smile. “Can I see the memorabilia?”
“Don’t you want to know more about Adam?”
“I know enough to get the job done.”
“Depends on what job you mean.” She hooted a laugh at her joke and gave Jane a nudge toward the back of the store. “The stuff’s out back in a separate garage. Let’s go.”
When Hildie yanked up an old-school manual garage door to reveal her treasures, Jane literally had to take a step back from the impact of it all. As much as she loved the setup and vibe of the store, the floor-to-ceiling mountain of junk, cartons, and broken furniture looked more daunting than the one she climbed to get to the ridge.
“Oh, this’ll take a while.”
“Not really. I have a system.” She passed by Jane and stepped to the right side, pulling down a plastic bin. “Some of this we use for Founders’ Day. Everything in this section is something one of those four men gave me.”
“Why don’t they keep it?” she asked, gingerly stepping over some shoe boxes to get to Hildie.
“There was talk of a museum once, and of course, I jumped on that. I really wanted to find a place to make an Eagle’s Ridge museum, because we need one in this town. There’s none other like it in the United States.”
“None that I’ve heard of.” But then, Jane was hardly a world traveler.
Hildie beamed. “I’ve lived here my whole life. My father, husband, and son were all 101st Airborne in the Army. They’re all gone now, though.”
Jane drew back. “Your son, too?”
Hildie’s broad smile faded. “Yeah. He was on an Apache helicopter that went down in Afghanistan.”
“I’m so sorry.” She reached a hand out, feeling real pain. “I can’t imagine how hard it is.”
“Hard, yes. But he sacrificed his life for this country and our freedom. My husband and father didn’t, but they served, and my Michael—that was my husband—died not long after Mikey Jr. did. Cardiac arrest,” she said. “Basically, his heart broke.”
“Oh.” Jane pressed her hands against her own chest. “That must have been awful.”
“Yes, but…” Hildie lifted a shoulder and brought her bright smile back. “I’m a happy woman who loved well and was loved back. Now, over here,” she said, pointing to another box. “That’s all David’s stuff.”
Warmed by Hildie’s attitude, Jane followed. “Are these the mugs and caps?”
“Oh yes, his precious mugs and caps. And a ton of photographs of all those men, and this box? There’s probably a hundred pictures of all the town buildings going up, including this house.”
“Wow.” Jane dropped to her knees to open one, revealing more stuff. “There’s so much.”
“That flashlight’s from World War II,” Hildie said. “And so’s that map there.”
Jane carefully lifted the paper map, an unexpected shiver rolling over her.
“I know,” Hildie said softly. “It feels too important to sell on eBay, though so many of the original owners are gone, or don’t remember this stuff is here, or just really wanted someone else to do something with it.”
“The museum.”
Hildie lowered herself to perch on a straight-backed chair. “I just couldn’t do it, not financially and not after my son and husband died. But something needs to be done with this treasure trove of military memories.”
“Oh, I agree.” And she knew exactly what it could be. “What if I make the boathouse do a little double duty?” Jane suggested. “Sure, it’s a dormitory for the kids, but couldn’t it also have a historic area, maybe be that museum in the off-season?”
“That’s a good idea,” Hildie agreed.
“The living area is spacious. We’d just need one wall. I could make a wallpaper out of maps and photos. Maybe add a few built-in shelves for some of this other stuff.” She looked around, thinking, getting that zing of excitement when an idea worked. “Maybe even add—”
“The propeller!” Hildie said with a clap.
“What propeller?” she asked.
“From a plane just like Sleepy Time Gal that those guys flew. A friend of one of the founders brought it to town for one of the celebrations, oh, I don’t know, fifteen years ago. We used it in the parade a few times, but then it got stored in my attic during a flood, and I bet it’s still up there.”
“A whole, real propeller?” Visuals flashed in her head. “Can you get it?”
“I can’t, but if you send two or three very muscular young men to my house, I bet they could. And I’ll watch.”
Jane laughed, promised she would, and spent the next few hours happily digging through the town’s past and getting an earful of gossip about its present, including some of the names she was starting to recognize.
By the time they were finished, Jane not only had everything she needed to transform the boathouse living area into an Eagle’s Ridge mini-museum, she knew that the mechanic shop was going up for sale, Wyatt Chandler’s grandmother must have diabetes because she stopped eating doughnuts, the Garrisons were frustrated Ford wouldn’t take over the family business, and apparently Diana Woods had a rich and imaginative suitor, but no one, not even Hildie, had any idea who it was.
All in all, a fantastic morning.
Chapter Twelve
Adam leaned back on the last of the beds he’d just assembled and watched Jane work on the maps she’d spread out all over the floor. For hours, she’d been chatting about getting them on the wall and covering them in clear shellac, instead of a mural. At least he no longer had to commission one of those.
He’d given up fighting her ideas. They were too good. And they were nearing a twelve-hour day that had been one of the most productive he’d had in ages. They’d zipped over to some appliance shop in the next town and ordered everything for delivery early next week, did the same with some furniture she liked, and while he installed a cabinet, she lugged all her historical finds into the boathouse and started planning the design.
They broke for dinner at No Man’s Land, but that was hours ago, and he was dead on his feet. But she showed no signs of slowing.
“Man, I thought I was tenacious,” he mused, studying her.
She looked up at the comment. “I thought you wanted progress.”
What he wanted was…attention. Hers. But she buzzed like a little bee, humming, talking to herself, moving around, slapping paint chips on different walls, and climbing up and down the loft ladder to get various views.
His view, when not working on beds and cabinets, was mostly of her. Because the harder she worked, the prettier she got.
She’d clipped her hair up, but many loose strands had fallen around her cheeks and neck, giving Adam the urge to sit next to her and brush those silky locks off her cheeks. Maybe unclip it all and run his hands through every sexy inch of her hair.
She wore a simple white T-shirt that he could see right down when she was on her hands and knees, like she was that very second. The angle gave him a glimpse of a lace bra that looked delicate and flimsy and full of soft, round breasts he ached to feel against him.
Her jeans were old, faded, and had little tears in the knees that he wanted to slip his fingers into and tickle her legs.
Yeah. Definitely quittin’ time.
“Oh, I haven’t seen this one.” She gingerly opened a map.
“Don’t you think it’s time to call it a night?”
“All you’ve done for days is tell me to start,” she said, her attention on the yellowed paper. “So now I’m—oh my God, Adam!” She looked up, eyes wide. “Lieutenant General George S. Patton!”
“What about him?”
“He signed this map.” She got up on her knees, extending the map like it was burning her fingers.
“Lemme see.”
Still on her knees, she came closer, holding the deeply folded military map toward him. “Is that possible? It’s Patton’s real signature?”
“Entirely. He was the general who beat the Germans at the Battle of th
e Bulge. Sounds like the kind of company John Westbrook would keep, even during a war.”
“Why on earth would he give up something with a famous general’s signature on it?”
He shrugged, taking the map, which was heavily marked and definitely signed, for whatever reason, by Patton himself.
“Should we give it back to him?”
“We can. Or Ryder might want it, if it belongs to a Westbrook. Ask my grandfather first.”
She sank down on her knees, much closer to him, right where he wanted her. “You see how bad this town needs a museum?”
Yeah, that idea again. The boathouse as a museum in the off-season. He had to admit it had merit, but it was also the last thing he wanted to think about now.
“Hildie wanted to do it, but after her son died, and then Michael died, she just didn’t have the motivation. I should mention this to Harper.”
He frowned. “Who’s Harper?”
“The new librarian,” she said. “Or maybe Ryder, since he’s expanding the airport.”
Laughing a little, he carefully refolded the map. “Listen to you. Getting to know your way around Eagle’s Ridge pretty well.”
“Oh, I wish.”
He put the map on a box nearby and turned to her, not sure he’d heard right. “You wish you knew your way around here?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
And she couldn’t keep the faint color out of her cheeks, as if embarrassed at the admission. “I mean, it’s a great town. It has deep history. Roots and families and all that military spirit.” She attempted a casual shrug and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. “All this design work has me thinking about the town, I guess.”
“Is that what it is?” He searched her face and let their bodies naturally come closer together so that her knees touched his legs. “Or are you getting a little crush on Eagle’s Ridge?”
That made her smile. “Maybe a little. This place isn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before. I’ve never lived anywhere but…” She caught herself. “Miami.”
Adam (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 2) Page 12
