by Unknown
“Not by my standards.”
It was early by anybody’s standards. Not quite seven o’clock on a snowy Sunday morning. Most people would be rolling out of warm beds, putting on the coffee, and making the cold dash to find the newspaper on the front lawn.
“You’re not going to church?”
“Mom’s not feeling well. I thought I’d stay close.”
“You—you weren’t that interested in church … before.”
“I wasn’t, but a few years ago I discovered something missing in my life. God. I’ve been trying to rectify that.”
Lully had searched for God and seemed to have found him. And now Sam.
“Did you find him?”
His gaze held hers. “Lully worried about you,” he said.
“She shouldn’t have.”
“She wanted you to have what she’d found.”
She swallowed back a tight knot forming in her throat. “That’s something a person has to acquire on his own.”
“You’re in my prayers,” he said softly. “You have been for a long time.”
This side of Sam was one she hadn’t seen before, and the difference unnerved her. He seemed … content, at peace. She wished she could say that about herself.
“Now, let’s see about this stove.”
When he stepped past her, the aroma of his aftershave teased her nose. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it, along with his Stetson, onto the couch. He wore old jeans that were bleached almost white and a comfortable wool shirt. Before yesterday, she hadn’t seen him in street clothes since her return to Serenity. He looked very good in worn jeans.
Too good.
Picking up the two dropped logs plus another from the wood box, he opened the stove door and stacked them inside, allowing room for air circulation. Closing the door, he adjusted the damper.
“Got any coffee?”
“I was about to make a pot.”
“I’ll join you.”
Emma limped toward the kitchen, Sam following.
“What happened to your foot?”
“Dropped a piece of wood on my toe.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll survive.” She filled the percolator with cold water and measured grounds into the metal filter.
He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the cabinet, watching her. “Didn’t Lully believe in modem conveniences?”
“Apparently not.” She plugged the pot into a receptacle. “Everything looks about the same. Except the refrigerator is new. The old one must have lain down and died. She probably let it lie there for a month, hoping it would get up and run again. Lully always kept the faith.”
He chuckled. There had been a time when conversation between them came so easily the words would tumble over each other. But that was years ago. Words weren’t so easy anymore. They both had changed.
For one thing, his kiss was so much more potent. Emma set the sugar bowl on the table. She couldn’t dwell on a kiss. She had to keep a clear head, and kissing Sam wiped coherent thought right out of her mind. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I wanted to see how the paint looked after it dried.”
A smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. “That couldn’t wait until after nine o’clock?”
“Are you busy? Other than wrestling the dog?”
“No.” She poured cream into a small pitcher and set it on the table. “Hungry?”
“Sure. You cooking?”
“Only if you like scrambled eggs and toast. I don’t cook much.”
“Scrambled eggs sound great.”
He sat at the table while Emma dragged a large cast-iron skillet from the cabinet and lit a burner on the stove. In a few minutes she had assembled eggs, butter, a loaf of bread, and a jar of grape jelly.
Sam unfolded the newspaper he’d found on the porch and scanned the headlines. “Better spray some Pam in that skillet. The eggs will stick otherwise,” he said.
“Thank you, Martha Stewart,” Emma murmured. She checked the cabinets and found a can of cooking spray, which she held up for his inspection.
“That would do it. Bet you cook with Teflon pans.”
“I thought everyone did.” She sprayed the skillet and cracked the eggs into it.
Sam got up and opened the refrigerator and rummaged inside, coming up with cheese. Emma tensed when he reached around her, sprinkled a few small pieces on top of the eggs, and then took her hand that held a fork and blended the cheese into the eggs. “Makes them not so dry,” he whispered in her ear, totally unnerving her.
Emma watched the cheese melt as she gathered her composure. Sam went back to his newspaper. She wanted him to kiss her again and called herself all kinds of fool for it.
She divided the eggs in equal parts on two plates and buttered whole-wheat toast. She set one plate in front of Sam and wiped her hands down the front of her robe. “That jelly looks old,” she remarked.
“Have you checked the pantry? Bottom shelf. Lully used clover honey in the winter,” he said, laying aside the newspaper. He applied pepper liberally to his eggs.
“You seem to know a lot about my sister,” Emma explored the lower shelf of the pantry and then emerged with a jar of clover honey.
“We talked,” he said, reaching for the jar. “About a lot of things.”
Emma poured two mugs of coffee and sat down. She didn’t explore his statement. Lully had probably told him how disappointed she was in her sister, and Emma didn’t want to hear that. She already felt enough guilt about her relationship with Lully.
As he ate, Sam picked up the paper again and started reading.
“Don’t hog the sports section,” she said.
He lowered the paper. “What part are you interested in?”
“Women’s basketball.”
He was clearly surprised. “You like basketball?”
“Women’s basketball.”
He thumbed through the pages and extracted the middle section and handed it over. She took it, passing him the toast. He handed her the cream. They ate and read, with only the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. She glanced his way once, but quickly hid behind her part of the paper again, thinking that this was how it would have been if they’d married. Maybe after fifteen years their meals would be quieter because they would know that he took his coffee black, she liked cream, he read football, and she followed the WMBA. The only difference would be that she wouldn’t be so aware of his aftershave, or that his clean-shaven jaw was strong and clean-cut, or how the damp air made his hair curl.
Emma suddenly remembered her own appearance—no makeup, uncombed hair, bits of bark still clinging to Lully’s ridiculous wool sarong thing. She looked a wreck, and she could feel sticky honey at the corners of her mouth.
She looked up to find Sam studying her, his chocolate brown eyes dancing with mirth. He slowly leaned forward and with the tip of his napkin wiped honey from her mouth. She could have melted, right here in her chair, melted and slid onto the floor in a puddle.
Gismo barked and she jumped as if she’d been shot. Sam’s gaze went to the dog standing in front of the back door, growling.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emma was grateful for the distraction.
He stopped her from going to the door with a chop of his hand. Holding a finger to his lips, he got up from the table and stepped to the window over the sink.
Gismo growled again.
“Shhh, boy,” Sam soothed quietly.
“What is it?” Emma got up quietly to stand beside him. Two figures stepped around the side of the house, huddled against the cold wind.
Emma frowned. “Isn’t that Mayor Crane and Darrel Masters?” she whispered.
Sam nodded. “What are they doing sneaking around the house at this hour?”
“That’s a good question. What are they doing sneaking around any house at any hour?”
They watched the two men cross the yard and disappear around the far corner. Emma and
Sam tiptoed to the front of the house, where they noted the two men hurry across the front lawn and down the lane.
“They walked here?”
“Must have, or parked around the corner.”
“If they wanted something, why didn’t they come to the door?”
“If I know the mayor, he was snooping. But I’ll ask and tell him to stay off private property.”
“He probably thinks it’s soon to be public property,” Emma said.
“Well then, I guess he’ll have to be reminded differently.”
After breakfast, Sam—with some coaxing, got Emma to attend church services—which turned more than a few heads. Sam’s mother was under the weather today. She rather liked sitting next to him, sharing a songbook. During the sermon he held her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles absently. It was the first public show of affection, and Emma found she was comfortable with the subtle intimacy.
For lunch she made egg-salad sandwiches; they sat at her kitchen table and drank Cokes, ate chips, and polished off a bag of Fig Newtons. Then they painted for the rest of the day, working companionably. By evening they were bone tired but had made good headway on the dining room.
Emotions were changing too quickly in their relationship. He kissed her good-bye like she’d never been kissed before, which, on the surface, wasn’t a bad thing. But she was confused. The life they’d shared was years ago and long gone. Both had changed and grown and Mrs. Gold was old as dirt and still living. No disrespect intended, but there would never be a Sam and Emma as long as his mother breathed life. What did that say about Sam? That he was man who couldn’t stand up for himself or a man caught in an indelible trap.
On Monday, Emma finished work at the bookstore at six and bid Elizabeth good night at the front door. She decided to eat at Brisco’s before going to the city council meeting at seven. She preferred the warm conviviality of the café to the yawning emptiness of the house.
The windows of the café were steamed over reminding everyone the temperatures had dipped into the teens. Snowflakes swirled around Emma as she pushed open the door.
“Seat up front there, Emma.” Penny waved the coffeepot at her. Emma smiled at a couple of bookstore customers she recognized and slid into the front booth.
“English or American?” Penny called out.
“English,” Emma laughed, ordering the tea she often drank over the decaf coffee she sometimes favored.
Emma drew a deep breath and scanned the busy restaurant, suddenly feeling an uptake in her spirits. How nice it was to come into a restaurant and be known by name, by what she liked to drink, and recognize familiar faces. Was she finally overcoming her dubious reputation? Penny had two kids, Emma knew. She carried their school pictures under the clip on her order book. A boy and a girl she adored and a husband, a garage mechanic, who thought the world of her. Emma had seen him come in and drop a kiss on the top of Penny’s head during rush hour. A pang of jealousy bothered Emma at the memory.
“Here you go. Honey and lemon.”
Emma smiled. Penny always remembered what she liked with her Earl Gray. This never happened to her in Seattle.
“We’ve got some good clam chowder,” Penny suggested. “Homemade. Oyster crackers.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Emma said, slipping the menu back into the rack on the table.
“I’ll be right back.”
Emma poured steaming hot water over the tea bag and glanced around the café while her tea steeped. Good people here, she decided, in spite of the way more than a few in this room had treated the Mansi girls. She still held on to remnants of resentment, but even they were beginning to fray. So far everyone had respected her feelings concerning the house, and no one had approached her or even suggested a parking lot except Sam, who by stipulation of Lully’s will alone, was obligated to tell her.
She ate her chowder with relish, occasionally returning the greeting of someone coming in or out of the café. She paid her bill a few minutes before seven, and prepared for the short, cold walk to city hall.
Penny grinned and rang up the sale. “Going to the council meeting?”
“I thought I would,” Emma returned. The thought of another long night in the old house didn’t appeal to her.
“Most everybody is. Everybody wants to know what’s going on, and then rehash it here in the morning. Prime entertainment.”
Emma laughed, as she was expected to, though she wondered
how entertaining the council meeting would be. She’d never been to one before but understood that small towns like Serenity did things differently than large cities. “See you later.”
Emma wrapped her muffler more tightly and pulled on her gloves as she left the café to walk across to city hall, which sat in the middle of the town square. The one-story building was square and plain, purely functional. She reached council chambers as the meeting was ready to get under way.
Sam saw Emma enter the council room. Gazes shifted to watch her search the room. Immediately heads leaned together and whispered. He knew what that was about and felt a stab of guilt that he hesitated to motion Emma over to sit beside him, but he didn’t want wagging tongues to upset her.
A part of him wanted—needed—to protect her. A part of him wanted to believe there was a reason for her to stay on after so many weeks. If God had a plan for them, Sam hadn’t a clue what it was, and that made him ask himself even more often what he was going to do if, or when, she left again.
This time for good.
With a sudden change of mind, he stood up and pinpointed her in the crowd.
Emma saw Sam motion for her to sit beside him. She hesitated, not sure she wanted to prompt more gossip and speculation, but she needed the support of someone who knew what she was doing. He grinned at her frown of hesitation, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She hated that smug look on his face, but then even as a teenager he’d been able to read her like a book.
“Didn’t know you were coming to council meeting,” he said as she sat down. He helped her off with her coat.
“Did you ask the mayor why he and the banker were prowling around my house?”
“I did. Said they were checking out damage at the cemetery and cut through your yard for convenience.”
“Do you believe him?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s plausible.”
She was about to repeat her question but the meeting was called to order by the mayor, who was flanked by the six councilmen at a long table in the front of the room. Mayor Crane tapped the microphone to see if it was on, and the sound assaulted Emma’s ears. It was on.
Old business was dispensed with quickly and new business announced. A couple of items were discussed, including the need for new sidewalks in a stretch of town that extended in front of Elizabeth’s Corner. Emma heartily agreed that something needed to be done. She’d stubbed her toe on a raised slab a number of times. Once those two pieces of business were covered, the mayor announced the meeting was open for new business. Drawing a deep breath, Emma stood. “I have a question.”
The mayor looked surprised, his gaze darting from Emma to around the room as if he sought someone else with a topic that would supersede hers.
“What is it, Emma?”
His calling her by her first name irritated her; in her opinion, it diminished the importance of whatever she had to ask.
“What are the zoning laws for Serenity?”
“Zoning laws? Why would you want to know about zoning laws?”
Emma frowned. “It’s my understanding that there are no zoning laws, and I need to clarify that.”
“Why? Are you planning on staying here? Starting a business?” The mayor looked as if he’d tasted something bitter.
“Everyone knows the house is for sale—or will be.” She glanced down at Sam from the corner of her eye. “It’s been a residence all these years—”
“I understood there was a problem with determining ownership of the house,” the mayor said.
&nb
sp; So, the gossip mill was going strong.
“It was a funeral home, a place of business, several years back,” a councilman interrupted.
“It was,” she responded. “And the bill of sale or deed will be found.”
“Until it is,” the mayor shrugged, “whether or not there are zoning laws is a moot point.”
Even Emma noticed the turned heads and puzzled expressions. The mayor was being less than cordial or professional.
“It won’t be when we’re ready to sell the property. I need to know that if someone wants it for a business there would be no zoning laws that would prohibit that.” She glanced around the room, noting the frowns on several faces. “It’s a simple question.”
“Do you have plans for immediate sale of the property?” Darrel Masters asked. The town’s banker sat on the council to the right of the mayor.
“That isn’t the point,” she said, trying to keep her tone level. “But I may have.”
“What do you have in mind?” Masters asked. “Provided the abstract can be brought up to date. What sort of business? Another funeral home?”
“I’m not sure, at this point,” Emma said. “But, again, that’s my—” She glanced at Sam and amended, “our choice, not an issue for city council.”
“No funeral home,” Sam noted under his breath.
Emma nudged his knee. “Hush.”
“Or a tearoom,” he reminded.
The banker pursed his lips. “Well, I wouldn’t advise that you over-extend yourself—whatever you have in mind. My understanding is you have a business in Seattle that you’re anxious to get back to. I don’t think it comes as any surprise that the town would be willing to buy your property, Miss Mansi. We need a new parking lot.”
Emma nodded. “I’ve heard the rumor.”
Masters exchanged a glance with his honor the mayor. “It’s quite clear that you’re indecisive at this point. Perhaps if we could meet and we could present our offer?”
Emma didn’t know if she was angry or more embarrassed by the sudden turn of events. She mustered a smile. “I’ll notify you if that time comes.”
“Now, Emma—”
She took a deep breath. “I asked a simple question. Are there any zoning laws in place that I need to be aware of when considering the sale of my family’s house, which, by the way, is debt-free and you know that. If I needed money I could use the house as collateral. I’m sure any bank in Durango would be glad to have my business.” She pinned Darrel Masters with a steady gaze. “And don’t bother to remind me that a bank won’t loan on a title that hasn’t been proven. I’ll prove ownership.”
