“I know. Our family is really a mixed bag. We—my sisters and I—always know we’re in for a treat when our aunt starts to tell a family story.”
“You’ve probably heard them all a hundred times before over the years, right?”
Des paused, wondering how much to tell him about her background.
“Yes, we’ve heard them all more than once.” She couldn’t have said why, but Des didn’t feel comfortable relating the entire story to someone she really didn’t know. Maybe when they knew each other better, assuming they got to know each other better. She felt more protective of her family’s story than she’d realized, more defensive than she’d been when she’d discussed it with Seth. But then again, Seth was a friend of the family. He’d known Barney way longer than she had.
Thinking of Seth reminded her of the photos he’d given her.
“Before I forget, I have those photos you’d asked for. The ones taken inside the theater?”
“Oh great. Yes, they’ll be helpful when we start to put together our grant proposal.” Greg stopped at a red light. When the light changed, he made a right turn, then midway down the street turned into a small parking lot next to a group of storefronts.
“We’re here?” Des looked around after he parked the car. “This is High Bridge?”
“It is.”
Greg got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, but Des had already opened the door. He held it while she climbed out.
“I hope you like Lotus,” he was saying as he guided her to the sidewalk. In his other hand he carried a bottle of wine. “It’s my favorite place.”
“I’m sure I will.”
He guided her into the restaurant with one hand on her back, a gesture she always found annoying. Strike one.
“It’s a pretty room,” she said, looking around at the pale gray walls accented with paintings of landscapes, flowering trees, and colorful gardens as they sat. The furniture was all black lacquer and the dishes stark white on polished wood tables.
The smiling host led them to a table and held Des’s chair.
Greg followed her gaze to the artwork.
“They’re all originals, I’ve been told. Artists who lived and worked in the area over the past hundred years or so. Improbable as it sounds, the owner—he’s a friend of mine—said he bought the lot on a whim at a sale of one of those storage places. You hear stories about people buying the abandoned units and finding something of value inside, but never expect it to happen to someone you know.”
“Oh, you mean like the stories of people buying an old painting for five dollars at a yard sale and finding the missing copy of the Declaration of Independence hidden in the frame?” Des grinned. “But good for your friend for having such good luck. I’m no connoisseur, but from here, anyway, most of those paintings look pretty decent.”
“Speaking of painting, let’s look at those photos.”
“Oh. Right.” Des grabbed her bag and searched inside for the envelope Seth had given her. “Here you go. Take a look, and see if they suit your purpose.”
He took the prints out one by one. “These are excellent shots. Who’s your photographer?”
“A friend.”
“Is he a pro?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“He did a great job.” He finished going through the stack, then tucked them into the envelope and into his jacket pocket. “These will come in handy when we start to do our thing.”
“Would you like me to open your wine, sir?” the server offered.
“Yes, thank you.” Greg handed over the bottle of wine. Once it was opened, the waiter poured a glass for each of them, and menus were presented.
“Is Jason here tonight?” Greg asked.
“No, Dr. Weller. He left early, but I’ll tell him you were here.”
“Please tell him I’m sorry we missed him.” Greg turned to Des, who was scanning the menu. “Anything strike your fancy?”
“A few dishes look intriguing.”
“I can recommend the fried rainbow trout with mangoes, apples, and chili paste over noodles, topped with ginger sauce,” he suggested. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Hmmm, that does sound good, but I think I might try the prawns and squid stir-fry with the lime vinaigrette.” She closed the menu. “With a side of sticky rice.”
After they placed their orders, he asked about her life in Montana, and she showed him photos on her phone of her log cabin and told him about the shelter. She’d just started to explain how the shelter operated when their meals arrived.
“So that’s what you do, then? You find strays and then find homes for them?”
“They come to us in a variety of ways. I’m speaking now of the shelter in Montana. We have strays that the sheriff brings us, and dogs whose owners can’t care for them or no longer want them. We have problem pets and unwanted litters. We keep them at the shelter until we can find homes for them.”
“And if you never find appropriate homes?”
“Then they stay with us at the shelter.” Des felt a wave of melancholy, thinking of the dogs that remained in the shelter for far too long, those that were too old or had health issues or were just not cute enough to be adopted.
It must have shown on her face, because Greg said, “I think it’s a really great thing that you do. I bet every dog you find a home for would thank you if they could.”
“They do, in their own way.” She pushed the rest of her seafood around her plate, no longer hungry. Every time she thought about the fate of all the dogs she couldn’t save, she got sick to her stomach.
“Did you always want to rescue animals?” Greg was asking.
“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet. I was going to save every sick animal that ever was,” she admitted. It had been years since she’d thought about how she’d wanted to go to veterinary school before someone told her she’d have to operate on animals.
“What you’re doing is important,” he said, as if deciding it to be so. “You help heal the spirits of all those lost dogs, right? And make people happy at the same time.”
“Thank you for understanding that.” She put her fork down. “Not everyone gets that.”
“What’s to get?” He shrugged. “Seems simple enough to me.”
She mentally erased that first strike.
He offered Des a little more wine, and she nodded. “Just a splash.”
The waiter stopped to check on things, and assured that all was well, left them with the dessert menu.
“Oh, by the way,” Des said, “we did find the name of the architectural firm that designed the building. It was Jones, Latham, and Mathews out of Scranton. And the artist who created the stained glass was Colin Patrick McManus. Dr. Lindquist had been most interested in the stained glass and we hadn’t located him at the time.”
“I’ll see Teresa at a meeting in the morning. I’ll mention that to her.” He took out his phone and proceeded to write down the names she’d given him, pausing once to ask her to spell McManus.
“I’m sure we’ll see her on Saturday at the cocktail party.”
“Oh, you’re coming to the party?”
“Barney goes every year, and she thought it would be a good idea for us to go with her, get to see the campus, meet some of the faculty, that sort of thing. She’s on the board of trustees.”
“That would make sense, to have a Hudson on the board.” He finished his wine. “Are you up for dessert? The green tea ice cream is good, and the sesame balls are interesting. Sticky rice with red bean paste inside . . .”
“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”
Greg signaled to the waiter. “Just the check, please.”
On the way out of the restaurant, Des stopped for a quick look at the paintings. The landscapes in particular drew her eye, but she didn’t want to be rude and lean over the diners at the tables. She made a mental note to come back. She really wanted a closer look.
“Your friend really was lucky,�
� she told Greg on their way to the car. “Some of those paintings are wonderful. It looked like a few of them are signed, but I couldn’t read the names. Has your friend researched any of the artists?”
“Good question. I’ll ask him when I see him next time.”
“He could have a gem or two there.” They reached the car, and Greg opened her door. Des slid in and fastened her seat belt while Greg made his way to the driver’s side. “Something about the landscapes are familiar, but I can’t say why.”
“Then I’ll definitely encourage him to try to identify the artists. I admit I’ve looked at a few of the signatures, but couldn’t really make out the names.”
“Same here.”
“Say, would you like me to give you a driving tour of the campus while we’re here?” Greg said. “Though you probably won’t be able to see much since it’s gotten dark.”
“Good point. I’ll wait till the weekend, but thank you.”
He really is very attractive, she thought as the car headed back toward Hidden Falls. And he’s really very nice. I like that he’s easy to be around, that he can keep a conversation going, that he picks up on things that I say and remembers them.
But the conversation had been pretty much one-sided—all about her.
“So where was home for you?” she asked him. “Where did you grow up?”
“Upstate in a place you’ve never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Millstone.”
“You’re right. I never heard of it.”
“Small town—not as small as High Bridge or Hidden Falls, but small enough that you knew your neighbors and they knew you. The town doctor and the chief of police knew everyone by name, and you knew every kid in your entire school, or one of their siblings.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Oh yeah. My dad’s the head of the school board and my mom teaches first grade. My sister, Melissa, is the school nurse. She’s married to her high school sweetheart and they have three really cool little kids.”
“How’d you decide on Althea for college?”
“That was a no-brainer for me. They offered me a scholarship to play soccer, and they have an outstanding History Department. Always have.”
“You got an athletic scholarship?” For some reason, this surprised her.
“Yeah.” That boyish grin again. “My glory days. Seems like a long time ago.” Greg laughed. “Well, it was a long time ago.”
He slowed the car as they came into the center of Hidden Falls, where the posted speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour. He slowed again to make the turn onto Hudson Street and once more as he pulled into the driveway at number 725.
“Would you like to come in?” Des asked as he parked halfway up the drive.
“I have an early meeting, so I’ll take a rain check. But I will walk you up.” He got out and walked around the car to the passenger side and opened her door. “This was fun. I’m glad you called me back. I did apologize for calling so late, didn’t I?”
“You did, but it’s fine. I didn’t mind.”
They walked along the path to the front porch. He stopped at the foot of the steps and took her arm.
“Listen, since we’re both going to be at the cocktail party on Saturday, how ’bout I give you a tour of the campus afterward? We could grab dinner or a movie or . . . or something.”
“ ‘Something’ sounds just fine.”
“Great. Want me to come get you and we can go together?”
Des hesitated. “I think my aunt wanted us all to go together. But I don’t have to go home with them.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you there.”
She nodded, and as she did, he slipped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him back and waited for bells to chime and a spark or two to fly.
No bells. No sparks.
First date, she told herself as she pulled away. Who hears bells on the first date?
“I’ll see you on Saturday.” Greg watched from the walk as she went up the steps to the door.
“See you then. And thanks for a nice evening.”
She stood in the doorway and watched as he backed down the driveway and eased onto Hudson Street, then disappeared onto Main Street. She pushed open the door and went inside. She heard voices in the kitchen and paused, deliberating whether to join them. Her sisters would want to know about the evening. They would tease her and grill her about every detail, the way sisters do. Which would be a totally new experience for Des.
She smiled and headed toward the sound of the voices.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Des’s instincts had been right on the money. Allie and Cara had grilled her good-naturedly for an hour after she got home, and she suspected they’d be ready for her again first thing in the morning. She rose extra early, got dressed, and crept down the steps. She brought her coffee into the office, where she resumed her search for something that would help them identify the artist who’d painted the theater’s walls and ceiling. She’d carefully gone through half a dozen files when she heard a crunching sound near the office door.
“So not even a little zip when he kissed you good night?” Allie took a bite from the English muffin in her hand.
“It was a very short kiss. Hardly a kiss at all.” Des glanced up to see both her sisters enter the room, Allie in shorts and a T-shirt, Cara in a long sleep shirt. “Gee, Allie, you’re completely dressed and it isn’t even noon.”
“I have to run a few errands.” Allie turned to Cara. “Could I borrow your car?”
“Sure. I’m not going anywhere today.”
“Thanks.” Allie smiled at Cara, then asked, “The first time you kissed Joe, what was it like?”
“Like picking up a live wire and being tossed across the room.”
“That’s chemistry.” Allie wagged her eyebrows and took another bite of her muffin.
“And when was the last time you kissed anyone, chemistry or no?” Des folded her arms on the desktop.
“Oh God, what year is it?” Allie put her head back dramatically. “It’s been so long I can’t even remember. But”—she leveled her gaze at Des—“I know what chemistry feels like. Believe me, once you feel that zap, you don’t forget it. And it’s either there or it isn’t. You can’t make it happen.”
Des rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m being schooled by two women who are divorced.”
“The divorce wasn’t my idea,” Allie and Cara protested at the same time. They laughed and high-fived each other.
“All I’m saying is that chemistry is really important, and if it isn’t there, the relationship is not going to work.”
“There is no relationship yet, Allie. You’re getting ahead of yourself. I had one dinner with Greg. Who knows what will develop?” Des raised her mug to her lips. “Just because that one short kiss didn’t turn me into a puddle of mush doesn’t mean it never will.”
“Not gonna hold my breath,” Allie said.
“It sounds like you like this guy,” Cara noted.
Des sighed. “I do. He’s interesting and he’s just my type.”
“Well, that’s good. I hope it works out for you.”
“So what is your type, Desdemona Hudson?” Allie asked.
“Ummm, I like cute more than handsome. Preppy. Smart.”
“Ahhh, right.” Allie nodded. “Khakis. Blue—or in a pinch, white—cotton button-down shirts rolled up to the elbow. Navy polos and Docksiders. Glasses optional.”
“Yes. Those things. And I like someone who keeps me on my toes. Surprises me,” Des added.
“So what about Greg surprises you?” Allie asked.
“That he had an athletic scholarship to go to Althea.” Des started to take a sip of her coffee when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Des went down the hall and looked through the glass in the door before opening it.
“Hey, Ben. What’s up?” Des said as she glanced down at the b
ig brown dog that was shaking all over but sitting next to Ben. “Oh, who’s your friend?”
“No idea. Someone picked her up out past the lake this morning and brought her to the police station. She has a collar but no tags. I took her over to the vet, but Doc Trainor says she doesn’t have a chip and he didn’t recognize her. He did say that the pads of her feet looked worn, like she’s run a long way or been out on her own for a while. So I’m bringing the dog to you.”
“Here, girl. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Des knelt and held out her hand, but the dog merely hung her head. “She’s a chocolate Lab, and as a breed they’re usually pretty friendly. But she seems awfully tentative.”
“I thought so, too. Like she’s not sure if you’re going to help her or hurt her.”
“You’re a pretty girl,” Des told the dog in her softest voice, but the dog kept her head down. “Aw, was someone mean to you, sweetie?”
“Well, well. Nothing like an early-morning visit from the local lawman to start your day with a smile.” Allie stood in the doorway. “What’s up, Sheriff? Showing off a new friend?”
“She’s a stray, and Ben did the right thing by bringing her here,” Des said over her shoulder as she continued to try to soothe the dog.
“And how’s Girl today?” Allie leaned against the doorjamb, her coffee mug in hand.
“She’s not Girl anymore. I finally found the right name for her.” Ben made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at Allie’s bare legs.
“Really? Do tell.”
“She’s Lulu now.”
“Lulu,” Allie repeated flatly, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly.
“Yeah. It’s a great name. When I was growing up, our neighbor had a black-and-white dog named Lulu.”
“Ah, still a little short on originality, eh?”
Ben scowled. “I was honoring an old friend.”
“Well, I guess that’s understandable, since most of your friends are probably four-footed.”
Ben’s smile was slow and sure. “Hey, you always know where you stand with a dog.”
Allie laughed before turning her back and shutting the door.
The Sugarhouse Blues Page 15
