“But Harper no longer has someone she can go to with concerns …” Kathy sounded like she was getting teary, and Logan’s chest ached for her. There was no way to make everyone happy.
“She has me,” he said as gently as he could. “And she has a safe place after school. A friend—the woman who runs the shop next door—has been doing projects with her.” His eyes searched Frankie for a reaction—good or bad—but he didn’t get one. Was he overstepping? “Maybe you should call Harper tonight, let her tell you herself.”
Kathy huffed. “If you answer your phone.”
“I’ll answer, but I have to go now, Kathy. I have patients waiting.”
Logan hung up, grumbling as he put his phone into his pocket. When he looked up, his eyes met Frankie’s, and he saw … concern, compassion, and … he hoped it wasn’t pity. He was fine. Really.
“If that was your mother-in-law, I think you were right in everything you said.” Frankie tucked a lock of hair back into her ponytail. “From what I can tell—and yes, I know my view is limited since I’ve only known you, what, a couple of weeks?” She didn’t wait for him to nod. “There’s no way she can find you unfit, Logan. Harper is a great kid, which means you are doing a wonderful job with her.”
That Frankie didn’t ask for details about Harper’s mom relieved Logan to no end. He certainly didn’t want to get into that today, not in the wake of Kathy’s bombshell.
“And yes, Logan, Harper has me until you figure out alternative after-school care.” A sly grin crossed Frankie’s face, bringing out her dimple. He was already getting to know her well enough to expect something devious to escape her lips next. “Perhaps this is the time to go out with Brooke. It might be just what the mother-in-law ordered.”
“How do you figure that?” While that was what Kathy had been hinting at—that Logan hadn’t dated, serious or otherwise, since Christina—the thought of starting a new relationship amidst the other changes felt like a bad idea for Harper’s sake. Yet Harper had said she was fine with the whole thing.
Maybe it was just a bad idea for him.
“What do you say, Dr. Wells? Give Brooke a chance. You have to admit she’s pretty, and she’s fun, and …”
He thought of blond hair tossed over a willowy frame dressed to the nines. She was beautiful, that he couldn’t deny, but in an uncomfortable way. He would never be himself around her.
“… she’s great with kids, and super smart …” Frankie was selling this hard. “A more loyal friend you’ve never seen—except you aren’t looking for a friend—”
Correcting herself was even more amusing than the hard sell. He couldn’t take any more. He put up a hand to stop the litany of Brooke’s best qualities and accomplishments. He wasn’t interested—especially not in what her best friend saw in her. Likely the two of them weren’t looking for the same thing.
“Okay, okay.” He waited while Frankie closed her mouth, satisfied she didn’t have to come up with anything else to tempt him. “I will go out with Brooke. Once.” He felt his heart squeeze in disappointment at the way his promise made Frankie smile. Why wasn’t he good enough for her? “But I’m warning you. I don’t think she’s my type. It’s not going to go anywhere.”
“You said that last time when you were adamant you wouldn’t ask her out. You never know, you might change your mind on this too.”
Not when Frankie had caught his eye. Not only was she incredibly attractive, she was talented and creative, and she respected his daughter. Not once had he seen Frankie dismiss Harper as just a child or patronize her in any way. He liked that Frankie and Harper had this relationship independent of any possibilities between the two adults.
“Thank you!” Frankie gushed, reaching out and grabbing his forearm with both her hands, their faces only inches apart. His heart went into hyper speed. Her touch only intensified what he’d been feeling. He tried to mentally shake it off, frustrated that he enjoyed their closeness so much when it meant nothing to her.
“Hey, I’ve got to head back.” He knew Lucy was going to rightfully give him an earful for his disappearance.
“No problem, we’ll see you later.”
“And if you don’t mind, remember the walls are thin …”
“Gotcha.” She walked off as happy as ever—one of his favorite things about her. She could take anything in stride, even a surly neighbor who policed her decibel levels.
I should go back in there and tell Frankie she’s the one I want to go out with. See what happens then. It was the only fair thing to do for all three adults involved, not to mention Harper.
He’d convinced himself to do just that, had even started opening the door when he overheard Harper mention him.
“This will be good for Dad. Grandma and I are the only girls he’s ever around, and I can tell he’s lonely. He doesn’t smile as much as he should.”
“Are you really okay with him dating someone, then?” Frankie responded.
Distracted by trying to figure out what Harper pictured when she thought of him dating—what did the kid know about that stuff, anyway?—Logan paused. Should he head back to work, or was this even more reason to ask Frankie out before Brooke and her feelings got in the way?
“Yes.” He could see a sliver of Harper as she smiled, a dreamy look on her face. “I think he misses laughing with my mom. I want him to be happy like that again. Get married. Like the moms and dads you see in the movies, you know?”
If only real love were anything like the movies.
“Married?” The shock in Frankie’s voice intrigued him. What did Frankie think dating was about if not heading toward the ring? “Umm …” She took too long to finish that sentence. “We’re talking one date here, Harper, not marriage.”
How Logan wished Frankie knew he’d heard that; he was sure he could use it against her at some point—if he had to.
“Don’t you want to get married, Frankie?” Harper asked in her innocence.
Logan was frozen by his own interest in the subject. What did the lovely Frankie want out of her own personal relationships?
“I guess someday I do.” There was a pause. “I’ve dreamed about it as much as the next gal. I even know where I want the reception, and I’ve always wanted a Christmas wedding. I know I want to wear my mother’s cowboy boots with my wedding dress, and most of all, I want the one I marry to be the one person who ‘gets me’ most in the world. Someone I can laugh with, create with, go on adventures with. Someone who can see around all this clutter and pick me out as the treasure he wants to spend forever with. The problem is finding that guy …” There was a pause, and Logan started to worry what Frankie would fill his daughter’s mind with next. He cringed as Frankie continued, “You know, Harper, someday you will find that, and your dad will too, when the time is right for him again.”
Logan shook his head. It was a good thing he liked this Frankie woman, or he’d be ticked that she filled his daughter’s head with all this wedding fluff. Then again, everything Frankie had said about a partnership—now those were wedding dreams he agreed with wholeheartedly and were exactly what he wanted for his daughter—eventually.
“There’s something you need to know though, kiddo.” Frankie sat next to Harper on the couch and looked her straight in the eye. “While it’s nice for you to want your dad to find love again, don’t ever feel it’s your responsibility. I may not have known you two very long, but I can tell you a couple of things: first, your dad is a happy man. I can tell. He smiles, he jokes, he pays his bills”—Logan tried not to chuckle at that one—“and you are part of the reason he’s so happy.”
Frankie paused long enough for the idea to sink in. “Second, he loves you very much. You will always be enough for him in his life. If he chooses to marry again, it isn’t because you’ve done anything wrong—or right. It’s a completely different thing. Does that make any sense to you?”
Harper nodded, but Logan wondered if she understood the wise advice Frankie was giving her. “He’ll
find love again because he’s a happy person, and it may be with Brooke, it may not. It may be next week; it may be after you’re in college. But it will happen.”
Frankie stopped talking, and for a few seconds, she stared blankly at the desk they’d been working on. She blinked and turned back to Harper. “Sand or sing?” Apparently doing both made it too loud.
Logan stepped back, allowing the door to close soundlessly, his mind and heart a jumble. That had been one serious, mature conversation, and he’d been relieved that the person his daughter confided in handled the situation with aplomb.
At the same time, it ripped his heart apart. He had to get it through his thick skull that Frankie was not interested in him. To keep from obsessing over it, he forced himself to hurry back to his office and his next patient at the clinic.
Chapter 8
Frankie crouched in front of the heavy dresser in Mrs. Jameson’s driveway, inspecting the sliding mechanisms on the wooden drawers. They slid back and forth without stutters, hitches, or stops. Then she tapped the bottom of each, pleased with the resounding thump. Sturdier than most of her garage sale finds, this dresser could hold objects heavier than clothes. While at least sixty years old, it easily had a few more good decades’ worth of use in it. The bigger question was, should she make it into a bathroom vanity or …
A kitchen island. Yes. It would be perfect paired with a butcher block top and painted a fun blue-gray. The right blend of country and chic.
Frankie took a deep breath of the cool morning air, happy for a Saturday away from the store. The Jameson family’s cutting horse ranch was right outside of town and brought back memories of watching the great Boone Jameson train one of her dad’s horses before Boone became famous. It had been fascinating to watch.
Frankie returned her focus to the dresser. Its outdated walnut stain, complete with scrapes and gouges, made the asking price well within her budget to make a decent profit.
Frankie loved eye-catching transformations. The change in paint color coupled with the unexpected use for the piece would make it stunning. If she was going to continue working with Harper, this would be a good project for them. The precision required to do the antique secretary justice wasn’t quite within the capacity of a child, so bringing in the island project would give them something else to work on while Frankie finished the desk during school hours.
“I’ll take it, Mrs. Jameson.” Frankie counted out the cash and handed it to the older woman who’d once been her second-grade teacher. Frankie had thought the woman old when she taught math facts and sight words. “Thank you for calling me about this beauty.”
Frankie loved it when community members called her with a heads-up and allowed her to peruse their castoffs before the shopping regulars made their way around the day’s circuit.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you load it—my knees, you know. My great-nephew, Henry, is supposed to be here somewhere around ten to muck out the stables, if you want to come back then.” Mrs. Jameson’s long, gray hair was in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. With her worn jeans and Western snap-down shirt, she looked ready to ride rather than spend the next several hours peddling her leftovers.
“I got you,” came a man’s offer.
The deep timbre of the voice brought mild shocks of reluctance tempered with interest. Running into him like this left Frankie uncomfortable, like a stiff shirt that had no give. On the one hand, he was the eye doctor next door who interfered with how she ran her business, yet at the same time, he was a sweet dad who brought a touch of humor into her shop. Frankie turned to face the neighbor she ticked off almost daily. At least he could help with the heavy lifting. Literally.
“Hey, Logan.” This was the first time she’d seen him in something other than business slacks and a tie. The casual clothes and slight stubble on his chin brought out a whole different side of him she hadn’t considered. With his hair tousled up front, he looked a lot younger than she’d supposed.
What was it again Brooke had said to excuse their crash and burn date the night before? “He’s got this mischievous look like he’s holding something back. I don’t know that I could trust a guy that good-looking who might be keeping secrets.” Frankie hadn’t observed that personally, but Brooke had deep-seeded trust issues. “He’s not my type. I like the quiet, bookish, steady kind of guy.”
“Good morning, Harper!” Frankie gave a quick wave that was returned with a half-eaten glazed donut waved in the air.
“A Saturday morning treat.” Logan cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “We don’t typically eat this way.”
“Hey.” Frankie raised her hands to prove she meant no harm. “No judgments here. I must have barely missed you at Tops Bakery. My early morning indulgence was a Boston cream.” Seeing the shine of glaze on Harper’s cheek, Frankie fought the compulsion to check for chocolate on her own lips.
“If you don’t mind helping—” she turned back to Logan “—I’ll back my pickup as close as I can get it. I know it’s a little high, but I think we can do it, right?” She flexed her biceps, knowing her puny arms wouldn’t look like much, but she was scrappy. And she moved furniture all the time.
After they wrestled the dresser into the truck bed and strapped it tight to the cab, Frankie hopped down from the tailgate and leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath.
“Garage sales.” Logan was staring at her, one eye closed against the bright sunlight angled exactly into his face. “I should have known that’s what you’d be up to this morning.”
“I like garage sales. They’re always an adventure, like treasure hunting. I like discovering what other people don’t see the potential in. If you look hard enough though, sometimes you find the gem in the rubble.” Like the stack of framed canvases she’d bought from Mrs. Jameson before settling on a price for the dresser. They were the ugliest prints Frankie had seen in probably forever, but the frames were solid wood and huge, and the canvases could easily be painted over and embellished for more of her signature signs.
“And you two?” She looked at both Harper and Logan. “You’re out early for garage sales.” At this point, actually, it wasn’t all that early. Pretty soon the regulars would be pushing through even the sales that clearly stipulated no early birds. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“We need stuff for our new house,” Harper explained.
“Stuff? That’s rather vague.” She gave Logan a sideways look with a long face. “So mysterious.”
He placed a hand on Harper’s shoulder, either holding her back from spilling more of their secrets or ready to turn her around for a quick exit. Evidence the man wasn’t comfortable around Frankie. “Not really,” he said. “We sold most everything before we came—I felt it was time to simplify—but we moved out of the Country Quilt Inn this week, and I’ve got to come up with some acceptable furnishings for the new place ASAP. Maybe even some decorations.” He pulled a face of disgust. “I got a letter from an esteemed law firm in Denver this week.”
That had to be about the potential custody suit, and Logan sounded a bit spooked. Frankie made a note to ask about it later.
“We’re looking for a bed for me.” Harper bounced up and down.
Ah, today’s number-one goal.
“You couldn’t find a better scout to help you accomplish that,” Mrs. Jameson jumped in. “Frankie’s got the best connections, and I have it on good authority this is her first stop of a few.”
Traitor.
While Frankie couldn’t say no to helping out Harper, she wasn’t so sure about spending the day with the entire Wells family. She’d been looking forward to enjoying freedom from the confines of the shop and the chains of responsibility for anyone but herself.
She felt a slight prick of conscience nudging her to help Logan. Frankie couldn’t imagine what would have happened to her family if she’d been split from her father at an early age. Co-owning Frank & Signs with him had been a dream. In addition to
all the other perks—financial, space, name-recognition—they divided the other responsibilities as well, including shopkeeping hours, which gave her most of her weekends free, like today. But working with him also provided a closeness she never would have imagined—hours of laughter, a strong set of hands to do the work, a springboard for ideas. If she’d been taken from him, not only would she never have had her own business, they also wouldn’t have had what other families had: shared memories—some painful, some not—holiday traditions, the confidence of a loving family with no regrets, no worries of why didn’t he want me. And if that meant Frankie needed to spend some time with Logan Wells to do the same thing for Harper, she could do it.
As long as he wasn’t in one of his Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde moods. She steeled herself for his reaction.
“A tour guide through Cobble Creek’s garage sales? Sold.” Logan made a show of shoving his phone deep into his pocket. “If I don’t have to figure out the best route or guess on the quality of potential sales, I’m all for it. GPS would only get me so far.”
“How true that is,” Frankie agreed. Frankie eyed the surprisingly available back seat of her crew cab. With the prints and frames stacked one side, there was still plenty of room for Harper—not to mention the other open half of her pickup bed. She wouldn’t be able to carry much more if she took them with her, but there would be room for a child’s bed. “Want a ride?”
Logan turned to Mrs. Jameson. “Mind if I leave my vehicle here and pick it up later?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Makes no never mind to me, except maybe pull it closer to the house so it opens more parking for buyers?”
The Inventive Bride Page 5
