by Jacobs, Ann
A Patchwork Romance
Copyright 2015, by Ann Jacobs, all rights reserved
Cover by Original Syn
Third edition
First published as COMING HOME, 2000, Kensington Publishing Corporation
HOME IS WHERE…
A self-made billionaire, Jared has everything—but yet he can’t help feeling discontent. Now he’s headed back to the Smoky Mountains where he spent his early years, searching for a simpler way of life, only to discover that coming home is complicated—especially when it means losing control of his heart.
…THE HEART IS
Every time Althea, a quilt shop owner, looks into Jared’s dark, captivating eyes, she feels a stirring of her senses she thought she’d buried with her late fiancé. But while she’s eager to enjoy the passion she feels with Jared, she’s promised herself never to risk the pain of another loss…
Until Jared sets out to convince her love is worth the gamble and, like a patchwork quilt, is meant to be cherished forever.
Table of Contents
A Patchwork Romance
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Chapter One
Coming home wasn’t shaping up to be all Jared Cain had imagined.
Twenty-four years’ worth of storms had taken their toll. The cabin where he’d spent the first twelve years of his life was nothing but a pile of rubble, bisected by the rotting skeleton of a tree trunk.
Jared stared at the tree’s roots which pointed obscenely toward a brilliant blue sky. He mourned the loss of that black walnut tree. Was the carcass of a tire that rested a few yards away from the ruins the same one his dad had hung with a rope from a branch of that tree?
A touch of color against splintered, graying wood caught his eye. He bent and picked up a filthy square of cloth. A patchwork square. A long-forgotten image of his mother flooded Jared’s memory. When they’d lived here, she’d always had a smile on her face and some piece of needlework in her hands whenever she found a spare minute.
The cabin hadn’t been much, but it was the only place Jared associated with home. It was gone now, like Dad. Mom. Everybody but Jared. He’d recently bought the mountain where he was born and had come here searching for a sense of belonging that he’d lost long ago—if he’d ever had one to begin with.
He looked again at the faded square, noting the precise shapes, the pieces sewn into a pattern of various-sized printed rectangles to form the square. His mother had made those tiny stitches, almost invisible and positioned as evenly as though they’d been sewn by machine.
How odd, he reflected, that the only recognizable object that remained from his childhood on Big Bear Mountain should epitomize the precision and control with which he lived his life. Jared started to toss the scrap away but changed his mind, tucking it instead into the pocket of his jeans. His spirits low, he headed back down the mountain.
The vacation cabin he’d had built along a fast-running stream where he used to fish smacked more of wealth than heart. Its rugged lines and the native stone and color blended well with the surroundings, as his architect had pointed out. But it was no more home to Jared than the ruins of the old cabin he’d just left.
For a long time he’d been looking for something, but he’d be damned if he knew what it was. Something was missing from his life, something that kept him reaching, seeking some elusive prize that hovered just outside his reach.
He sat on the porch in one of the oak-slat rockers Jim Simmons had delivered the other day and watched water rush over the jewel-toned rocks in the stream. His dad had believed those stones captured flakes of gold, and that he’d find gold nuggets among them.
Jared laughed. For years he’d tried not to think about that irresponsible, irrepressible man who’d made life seem like a great adventure. His dad had been a dreamer who’d never been persuaded that gold had been mined out in these hills of northeast Georgia generations before his time. Jared pictured his dad panning in streams like this one, certain he’d find the next big strike around the corner.
Having seen dreaming had gotten nothing but an early death for his dad, Jared had vowed never to dream, never to leave his family in poverty the way the old man had done when he’d run his ancient pickup off an icy mountain road and died. And he hadn’t. From the time Jared and his mother moved in with her brother in Atlanta, he’d focused on becoming a success.
He guessed most people would say he’d succeeded, in spite of his broken engagement, his restlessness. Jared cursed his lack of direction, got up and stood at the porch rail. To keep his hands still, he stuffed them into his pockets.
The seams on that ancient square of cloth abraded his fingertips. Reluctantly he pulled it out. It was just a scrap, only a piece of garbage from a past he wouldn’t want to revisit even if he could. But he couldn’t make himself throw it away. Maybe he’d go see Jim Simmons’s sister who owned a quilt shop out on the highway toward Blairsville, and buy himself a quilt made out of squares like this one.
Darkness came quickly on the mountain. Sighing, Jared sat back down and leaned his head against the cedar wall. He watched the sky turn black but for the brilliant stars and a sliver of a crescent moon. Try as he might, he couldn’t banish the sense of emptiness he’d come here to escape.
▪ ▪ ▪
Althea Simmons hummed a cheerful tune as she quilted around a teddy bear appliqué on the crib quilt she was making for her brother and his wife’s coming baby. As always on weekdays, business at the shop was slow.
The little boy they were expecting would round out Jim and Mary’s family. Jim would make a wonderful dad, reliving all the good times he’d had with their father.
For a moment Althea stopped stitching. She stared at the rotund teddy bear and mourned for Bill. Mourned that her own dream for home and family had died with him. Ended before it began.
Bill had been dead nearly a year, along with the part of her heart she’d given him back when they were kids. Althea would never again risk loving anyone that much. It had hurt so much to lose the man she’d come to lean on, think of almost as part of herself. Thinking about his senseless death still hurt, too much for her to share with anyone, even her family.
She shook away the pain and regret. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have Jim and his family, and friends she’d known all her life. She had her shop and her teaching job at the high school, and the dream she and Bill had shared. A dream she’d vowed not to abandon when she’d watched the workers lower his coffin into hard, red Georgia clay. She had no room in her life for bitterness.
The crunch of tires on gravel drew Althea’s gaze to the parking lot. Dark green, low and sleek, the car was a two-seater, a Mercedes if Althea wasn’t mistaken. Unlike most sports cars, this one had a substantial look about it. Still the car seemed insignificant when compared with the man who’d just emerged from it.
Long, lean and as graceful as a mountain cat, he sauntered toward her door. Althea’s heart beat faster. When he stepped across the threshold and met her gaze, her cheeks grew warm.
Every cell in her body prickled with awareness. Althea told herself her reaction was to the look of loneliness in his eyes. As expressive as their color was ambiguous, they were brown or forest green, depending on the angle from which she viewed them. They bespoke emptiness, an emotion all too familiar to her.
Dark hair that could use a trim rippled slightly in the breeze and drew her attention to a face that was all masculine angles, from his strong jaw line to a classic Roman nose that looked as if it might have been broken a time or two. It was a face she might have seen on ads for camping gear or formal wear.
“Ms. Simmons?”
How did this man know her name? “Yes?”
“I’m Jared Cain. Your brother Jim has been making some furniture for me. When I mentioned the other day that I’d like a quilt, he told me to come see you.”
If Althea hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the man who had recently bought Big Bear Mountain was suffering. But Jared Cain had no reason to be sad, if the local gossip could be believed. According to folks in Blairsville who supposedly knew him, this man had billions, a big company in Atlanta—everything anybody could possibly want.
Except, apparently, a quilt. “I’ll be glad to show you what I have.” She forced herself to focus on business. “Come on in.”
“Jim told me you make the finest quilts in these hills.” Jared ran his fingers across a point of the Lone Star quilt on the rack next to the door. Then he reached in his pocket and brought out a quilt block time and the elements had all but destroyed. “Do you have one like this?”
“Not exactly.” She couldn’t immediately identify the pattern. It looked similar to a Log Cabin, and she thought at first it might be a variation on that familiar design. When she turned the block over, though, she noticed its construction was different. “It’s similar to this one,” she said, moving across the room and pointing out the Log Cabin quilt draped over a small quilting frame.
He walked over and looked at the quilt before turning back to Althea. “I found that square in the ruins of the cabin where I was born. This quilt is nice, but I want one made out of squares like the ones in your hand.”
“Why?” His crooked smile warmed her, gave her a tingly feeling.
“Because my mother started making one like that years ago, before we moved to Atlanta. She never got the chance to finish it.”
Althea saw the faraway look in his eyes. Sensing he had more to say, she remained silent.
“She said the geese would fly away from the mountains, the way we were going to do, but that someday they’d come back.” He paused, his sensual mouth curving in a self-deprecating grin. “Appropriate, don’t you think, for a wanderer who has finally come back to find his roots?” He spoke casually, but when Althea met his hooded gaze she saw a darker underlying emotion.
Suddenly she remembered the pattern, an unusual one she’d once seen at a mountain craft exhibition in Dahlonega. “Flying Geese in the Cabin”, she said.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the name of the pattern.”
Jared looked at the square she’d set on a table and then at Althea. “Can you make me a quilt like this one?”
How could she refuse when he made her believe the quilt would mean much more to him than an accessory to decorate his bedroom or a cover to keep him warm on winter nights? “Yes.” If she couldn’t find a pattern, she could make one from the block he’d found.
“How soon?”
How like a man! “Depends.”
“On what?”
“Lots of things, such as how many other jobs I have to finish before I can start your quilt. Who I can find to help me with the piecing.” Althea motioned for Jared to come closer to the frame where she had the baby quilt she’d been working on. When he complied, she showed him the tiny hand stitches that went into quilting each section. “It takes about two hundred hours to make a full-size quilt, after the top is finished.”
He shrugged. “My bed’s king-size.” His tone was deep, his drawl incredibly sexy sounding.
Althea hoped her cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt. What was it about this man that made her envision him stretched out across that bed, his lean, fit body framed with the vibrant patchwork of a hand-made quilt?
“Ms. Simmons?”
He must think she was a complete ninny. “I’m sorry. Do you want to use your quilt as a bedspread or a coverlet?”
He looked confused. “What’s the difference?”
“A bedspread goes all the way to the floor. A coverlet stops where the dust ruffle begins.” Because he still looked perplexed, she showed him some photos. “Which do you want?”
“No ruffles. Not one of those skirt things that capture dust under the bed, either.”
She should have known without asking that Jared Cain wasn’t the ruffle type. Silently she calculated the time it would take her to make such a large quilt. “Then I guess you want a bedspread. I should be able to finish it for you by September if my price doesn’t scare you off. Three thousand plus materials, half down and the other half on delivery. ”
“That’s fine. But I didn’t realize it would take so long.” He sounded surprised, but he dug in his pocket for his wallet and handed over a credit card.
Apparently the man thought she had nothing to do but work on his quilt. “Summer’s my busiest time in the shop, Mr. Cain.”
“Jared.”
A sexy name. And the way he said it implied intimacy. “Jared. Nice name. Would you like to pick out the materials today?”
He glanced around the room. When his gaze settled on the two walls that were lined with bolts of fabric, he shook his head. “That could take some thinking.” Apparently the large variety of colors and prints overwhelmed him.
“After you pick the colors you like, the choices will be narrowed down quite a bit.” Althea couldn’t help smiling when Jared looked her way, obviously relieved.
“Let’s use dark green,” he said without hesitation.
She should have guessed. His car was that deep, almost black shade of green. His polo shirt sported a wide band of forest green, with narrower stripes of navy blue and gray against a white background.
Before she realized how much time had passed, they’d spent nearly two hours selecting the solid forest green background fabric and a dozen or so mostly geometric prints in coordinating colors. “I can start making a pattern now. I’ll do one block for you to approve before beginning the other pieces.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“Then I’ll line up a couple of women who do piecing for me, and we’ll get to work.”
She’d work as quickly as possible. As unlikely as it seemed, Althea had a hunch this quilt might give Jared a little of the feeling of home that she sensed he was missing. She hoped so, because she hated seeing the sadness in his eyes.
“Thanks.” Jared paused in the doorway of Althea’s shop a few minutes later. “Could I interest you in showing me around these mountains? It’s been years since I moved away.”
Althea smiled. “If I’m going to get your quilt finished when I said I would, I’m not going to have much time to play tourist guide.”
He didn’t know exactly why, but this quiet woman made him feel comfortable. Sensually aware, too, the way no woman had affected him for a long time. Damn it, being around her made him feel at home, and he hadn’t felt that way anywhere lately. Not at work, and not at his Atlanta condo. Not even on Big Bear Mountain, which he’d bought for the singular purpose of reconnecting with his heritage, whatever it might be.
Althea wasn’t a beauty like Marcie. Hell, she wasn’t even particularly pretty, compared with some of the women he saw every day in Atlanta. She was, well, average. Average height and weight, light brown hair. She had a nice body, a nice face. Nothing spectacular or even out of the ordinary.
Jared wasn’t certain what it was that drew him to her, only that he was drawn, more than he’d been toward a woman as long as he could remember—maybe ever
.
When he met her gaze, he liked the twinkle he detected in pale blue eyes that reminded him of a clear morning sky. “I could wait an extra few weeks for my quilt,” he told her.
“You sounded awfully anxious to have it quickly, just a few minutes ago.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“We’ll see.”
Jared wasn’t used to being put off. He didn’t much like the feeling it left in him. “When will I see you again?”
She smiled. “Sometime in the next few days. I’ll need to come up to your place and see the spot where you’re going to put your quilt, before I decide what sort of border will work best on it.”
Jared liked the idea of having Althea in his cabin. There was something wholesome—almost innocent—about her. A quality he couldn’t deny, although he’d have been hard-pressed to define it. He also liked the way her very ordinary features combined to form a pleasant, interesting composite. “You’re welcome anytime.”
“I should probably come soon, before I get too far along with cutting and piecing. How about next Monday?”
“Sure. Why don’t you wait until after you close the shop so you can stay awhile? I’ll fix us a bite to eat.”
When she smiled, her whole face lit up. “I’d like that. Would around six o’clock be all right?”
“Fine. Do you know how to get to my place?”
“Sure. Don’t you know you’ve been the major source of gossip for the last six months, since you went and bought yourself that entire mountain?” When she teased him, he noticed how her face lit up. At that moment he decided she looked sexy as hell. Then that look disappeared as she nudged him toward the door. “I’d better get started on your quilt now. Thanks for the business.”
That, Jared realized, was his cue to leave. “Anytime. See you Monday.” Then he turned and headed for his car.
For the first time since he’d walked out of his Atlanta office a week ago, Jared felt a sense of purpose. As precisely as he’d ever designed a game move or plotted the marketing strategy for a new Cain Software game or utility, he planned a simple menu he felt certain he could prepare—one that would impress her at least a little more than an order of the fast food burgers and chicken nuggets he’d been eating lately.
