by Maddie James
Jim nodded. “Yes. But you’d lose. And it would be expensive. I wouldn’t advise it.”
Her arched brow fell.
“Besides, he’s an attorney, and a damned good one to boot. I don’t think either one of us want to cross him.”
Gracie slumped back into the chair and frowned. Money was not something she was rolling in, and she really didn’t want to make an enemy of Carson. She just didn’t want a bar next door. I could ruin everything. “I guess I cooked my own goose, didn’t I?”
Jim leaned closer. “Not necessarily. If I know you, Gracie, you’ll find some way to make all this work for you, and not against you.”
“Hmpht,” she replied and glanced away. How in the world would a bar next door work positively for a place like Romantically Yours? She couldn’t think of one single advantage.
* * * *
Carson looked sharply up from his work at the bar, and stared out the shop window toward the street. What was that noise?
Listening, he cocked his head to one side.
Silence.
After a minute, he glanced back down at the paperwork spread out before him.
Crash!
He glanced back up. Yes. That was something. Definitely something.
“Izzie?” He looked to the ceiling, wondering what the child was doing upstairs.
At that point, he heard another crash. Then a shriek. And he knew both noises definitely weren’t coming from upstairs.
They were coming from next door.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered and quickly rose. “Please don’t let that be Izzie.”
He rushed out his front door and into Gracie’s shop, not having to stop to open her door because it was wide open. The scene that met him made his stomach plummet to the floor.
First and foremost, he’d never see a cat as large as Gracie’s old shop cat Claire, move quite as quickly as she was moving at that precise moment. It appeared she was doing three-hundred-and-sixty degree rotations inside the shop, under tables, over chairs, leaping onto display cabinets, sliding over polished hard wood floors, tipping crystal goblets and knocking over brass candlesticks. All the while she was making hissing noises that he’d never heard come from any earthly cat before.
But that was probably due to the fact that Izzie’s nymph of a Shit-Zhu pup, was hot on Claire’s heels, nipping and yipping, ears flying and toenails clicking, leaping and sliding and knocking things over right behind her.
On her tail was Izzie. A shoeless Izzie who in the process of chasing both cat and pup, managed to slide with an excited yelp into a table display full of Victorian cards and papers. The table skidded into a mannequin draped in a satin robe. The mannequin teetered, papers flew high into the air and then landed haphazardly around all of them like a game of fifty-two pickup, while Izzie sprawled out spread-eagle on the floor, finally coming to rest beneath the table.
He heard a small oomph as she hit the wall. Carson grimaced.
And bringing up the rear, her long skirt flowing, several tendrils of hair escaping from her French roll, her high-heels clicking on the floor, was Gracie. Just before she reached his daughter, he heard her cry out as one of her heels caught on the edge of an oriental throw rug, which sent her tumbling under the table with Izzie.
A larger oomph reached his ears. He grimaced again.
Then the mannequin fell with another loud crash. The entire scenario must have happened in no less than five seconds flat.
Hell, Carson thought. This wasn’t good.
This wasn’t good at all.
He raced toward the woman and the girl. The cat and the pup were long gone. At this moment, he didn’t even care where they were long gone to.
“Are you two all right?”
Reaching under the table, he grasped Gracie’s forearm, trying to ignore that her skirt had rode up to her thigh, and helped her into a sitting position. She thanked him, rubbed an elbow, and then helped him go after Izzie. Together they pulled her from underneath the table until she, too, was sitting before them.
Izzie rubbed the back of her head.
“You guys all right?” Carson repeated.
“Yes,” Gracie finally said, only a slight scowl on her face.
Izzie nodded.
Carson watched as Gracie lifted a hand to her hair and attempted to smooth back the wayward strands into her clip as she glanced about the room, covertly surveying the damages.
“Don’t look,” he told her.
Heaving in a big sigh, and then exhaling in a short huff, she looked back to Carson. “And why shouldn’t I look?”
“Because it will only depress you.”
“But I have to—”
“In a minute.”
She stared at him. “In a minute, what?”
“In a minute you can assess the damages and add up the bill and start cleaning up. And I’ll help you.” He looked down at his daughter now, who had remained extremely quiet the past few minutes. “And so will Izzie. We’ll gladly pay for the damages.”
Izzie frowned and looked to the floor.
Carson let it go for now. He looked back to Gracie. “I have a good idea what happened. I hope that this—”
Gracie waved him off and stood. Carson stood with her. “Mr. Price, it’s not her fault. Really. I let Izzie bring the pup in. I didn’t think Claire would react like that. It’s not the child’s fault. It’s mine.”
“But—”
Gracie smoothed her skirt and straightened her sweater. Tilting her head back, she looked him square in the eyes. “Don’t blame her. Please, just go find your pup. I think both animals ran out the back door. Don’t worry about Claire. She’ll find her way home.”
Carson glanced down at Izzie then, her eyes wide.
“Bandit went out the back door?”
Gracie crouched down to speak to her. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you go look?”
Izzie glanced to her father and he nodded his permission. The child shouted for her pup. After she was gone, Carson looked back to Gracie. Hell, he didn’t need this today. She was mad enough at him already. One more incident like this and she might actually have grounds to boot them out.
“You don’t have to take up for her if she did something wrong, you know,” he told her. “I want her to learn to own up to her mistakes.”
Gracie just stared at him. “Mr. Price, she’s a beautiful child. A mischievous child, yes. But this one was not her fault. I’m not blaming you. Or her. It was me. So go help your daughter find your pup and quit worrying.”
It was blunt, but Carson wasn’t really surprised. She’d been blunt the past couple of days. Still, he expected that she’d want them to take the blame. Seems he was wrong.
Carson stood for a moment longer looking at Miss Grace Hart. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure the woman out. First she ran hot, then cold. First she’s mad, then she’s not.
Kept him damned confused.
Too damned confused.
That’s what worried him.
Women.
Chapter Eight
“Are you mad at my dad?”
Gracie stopped counting the money in her cash drawer and peered across the counter at Izzie. There she stood, the epitome of tomboy, scuffed knees peeking out from beneath cut-off denims, lop-sided ponytail sticking out from a crookedly placed ball cap, dirt-smudged cheeks, and floppy high-tops with the laces untied. On her left hand was a ball glove; in her right, a softball.
Taking a moment to assess the child, Gracie had to smile. When she was Izzie’s age, she’d been exactly the opposite of this child. Nothing but frilly dresses, ribbons and bows, and dancing shoes. No ball gloves for her.
Still, she was captivated with Izzie. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she adored the child.
It was late Thursday afternoon and June had turned hot and humid, but it was relatively cool in the shop, even though the air conditioner was forced to run solidly. Izzie insisted on skipping in and out of the shop all afternoon a
nd Gracie had made only one rule about that—no Bandit was to skip in and out with her. She’d finally recovered from the incident earlier in the week.
But she was certain the fanning front door was causing another problem, elevating the shop’s temperature several degrees.
Gracie wiped a trickle of perspiration from her temple.
She liked the child. Had grown quite fond of her over the last two weeks. Izzie had made her presence quite well known in and out of the shop. And surprisingly, Gracie didn’t mind. Not one bit. Not even after what had happened with the animals.
She wasn’t mad at the child at all.
She was still upset with the father.
“Or are you mad at me?”
Surprised, Gracie glanced down at the imp. “No, honey,” she replied. “I’m not mad at you! And I’m really not mad at your father, either,” she told Izzie, “it’s just that we’re having a bit of a, um, misunderstanding. That’s all.”
Izzie cocked her head to one side and stared at Gracie. “Yeah, right.”
The child always threw her a curve ball.
“You don’t believe me?”
Izzie shook her head. “Nope.”
“And why not?” Gracie finished counting the bills, banded them, and slid them into her money pouch with the checks. Now she was going after the change.
Izzie leaned her elbows on counter. Her little chin practically rested on the smooth oak surface; she was barely tall enough to see over the thing.
“Well,” she began, “my dad has been grumpy all week, and you didn’t stay long at the party last Friday, and he yells and tells me to stay away and not bother you, and he still says we’re going to pay for the broken stuff, and you won’t talk to him—I saw you 'noring him when you were watering the flowers last night. And he won’t talk to you—I saw him 'noring you at Amie’s Place the other morning at breakfast, and—”
Gracie put up a hand. “Stop. I get the picture, Izzie. Perceptive little bugger, aren’t you?”
She grinned from ear to ear and nodded. “What does per-cep-a-tive mean?”
Gracie smiled back at the scamp. “It means that you notice things.”
The child nodded furiously this time. “I notice lots of things.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yep.”
“Is that why you think your father and I are mad at each other?”
Izzie pretended to think about that a minute. She cocked her head to one side, laid a forefinger beside her chin, and chewed on her lip. After a moment, she snapped her finger and said, “I got it! I know why you’re mad at each other!”
Gracie cleared her throat. “Now, Izzie. I told you. I’m not mad at your father, it’s just a misunderstanding between the two of us and—”
“It has something to do with the eye thing, doesn’t it?”
Now Gracie was puzzled. “The eye thing?”
“Uh-huh. The eye thing.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
Izzie thought another moment. “Well...it’s something my dad does when—”
The bell over the front door tinkled and both Gracie and Izzie turned toward the sound. In strode Carson. Every long-legged, spit-shined and polished, inch of him. Gracie gulped. Definitely a nice-looking specimen of male anatomy, she told herself. She guessed he was getting ready to open for so-called “dinner” at five.
Too bad that she was angry with the man. Funny how she had to keep reminding herself of that fact.
She couldn’t help but notice that Geekmeister’s CyberCafé had sported a small crowd every evening this week thus far. Not that she wished the man bad luck in his business, she was just hoping that if business was bad, it might solve her dilemma.
And she could use an easy solution to a dilemma for once in her lifetime.
In a couple of steps, Carson was beside his daughter. “Izzie, I told you not to bother Ms. Hart.”
Grace noticed he didn’t look her in the eyes. She didn’t even flinch at the reference to Ms. Hart. That was the way it had been all week. Their conversations were stiff and to the point with little elaboration. Carson appeared sorely uncomfortable around her and she...well, she just flat out wasn’t sure she could trust him. So, she’d decided to stay out of his way and entertain little conversation from the man until she decided what could be done about the entire situation.
Which, according to Jim, would probably be very little.
“She’s not a bother, Mr. Price. Really, she’s not.”
“Well, she shouldn’t be here. I asked her not to keep running in and out of your shop all day long. Especially after the other day...”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Gracie shook her head. “It’s not a problem. Slow day. Actually, she’s been a lot of company.”
He grasped Izzie’s hand and started for the door. Briefly, he made eye contact with Gracie. “Well, it’s time for her to go. C’mon, Iz.”
“But Dad,” the child interrupted, “I was just starting to tell Gracie about—”
“Oh, that’s right,” Gracie interrupted. “There was something she was going to tell me. Could you wait just a minute?” Gracie suddenly got the distinct impression that Carson was in a terrible hurry to get out of there.
Did she dare toss a kink in his impatience?
He exhaled deeply, glanced from woman to child and said restlessly, “All right. What is it?”
“The eye thing, Dad. I was going to tell her about the eye thing.”
Gracie watched as Carson flushed from neck to the top of his head in about one-quarter of a second flat. Suddenly, it was quite obvious that Carson didn’t want to talk about the eye thing.
“Yes, she was just about to tell me about the eye thing,” Gracie goaded. “Curious thing, the eye thing. Such a mystery, I understand.” Gracie didn’t know why, but she sort of felt like putting Carson Price on the spot.
Much like she felt put on the spot the other night.
She tried to smother a giggle.
Carson threw back his shoulders, grasped Izzie’s hand a little tighter, and took one backward step toward the door. He glared at his child then turned to Gracie.
“That silly eye thing?” he laughed. “What a joker she is. It’s a little trick she uses sometime. She’ll have to show you when there’s more time. Something she learned from her grandpa. Right now, we have to be somewhere and—”
“But Dad, that’s not—”
“We have to go now, Iz.” His words suddenly grew more stern. He turned to Gracie.
“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Hart. We’ll talk to you later.”
“See! There, Dad. That’s it! See Gracie? He’s doing it—”
Gracie immediately looked at Carson. His eyes had closed about halfway, one brow was arched, and a little come-hither twinkle flashed from beneath that arched brow.
Ah, that kind of eye thing, Gracie realized. Wanting desperately to giggle, she didn’t, deciding instead just to glance way.
Instantly, he whisked the child out of the shop before Gracie her brain really had a chance to grasp the entire truth about the eye thing. No matter, she thought. By the look on Izzie’s face, and the little wink she’d tossed her as she left, she was sure to spill it sooner or later.
Besides, Gracie had a pretty good idea just exactly what the eye thing was all about. A girl just knew things like that.
* * * *
The latest, hottest romance novel was up for discussion at the book club on Friday night. Constance was tired of discussing bestsellers, she’d told the group the month before. Gracie was sure her friend was up to something that didn’t have anything at all to do with books, but more with romance. She wished she’d give it a break.
The once-a-month Friday night group was different from the weekly Saturday morning group, with the exception of Constance. She was pretty much a staple item around Romantically Yours. Gracie never minded, of course, until lately. All Constance seemed to want to talk about was Geekmeister’s and the geek next do
or who owned the joint and how he might fit in with Gracie’s romantic whims.
Or the lack of such a thing.
The thing was, Gracie knew her life was missing something. She knew she’d be happier with a man in her life. With a child in her life. With a family. That’s what that ticking clock thing was all about. But it was just difficult for her to put herself out there any more, and she really and truly didn’t want Constance and Amie butting in to her love life any longer.
She just didn’t have the heart to tell them.
She was glad, however, for one thing. It seemed Geeks had become the newest interest in their lives of late. Thank goodness. Perhaps they’d let her be for a while. Even though it stung a little bit.
Like Amie, Constance was becoming a Geeks groupy. Were all her friends insane? They used to be her groupies!
Constance glanced at her watch. “I wish Bets would get here,” she said for the third time. “I’d like to get this discussion started and on its way.”
Three other ladies nodded in agreement. Gracie not included. In no hurry, she sat back and watched Ellen Harper, the Methodist church pianist, and Wanda Martin, the high school Home Economics teacher, and Kelly Brooks, who just graduated from cosmetology school, glance from one to the other and then back to flip through the book-marked pages of their books.
Something was amiss. She wasn’t quite sure what.
Gracie glanced at her watch. “You ladies gonna turn into pumpkins or something at the stroke of seven?” she asked.
Kelly glanced up. “Happy hour ends at eight,” she stated, then returned to her book.
Gracie dipped her head in a slow nod. Hm...
“Drinks are half-price until then,” Wanda added.
Ah-ha!
“Thought we’d finish early and take in a little Friday night activity at Geeks,” Constance concluded. “Of course with Bets being late, we might have to make it another time.”
Gracie smiled. They were her groupies after all! The book club was important to them, she knew, and they wouldn’t give it up for something as silly as—
