A Patchwork Romance

by Jacobs, Ann

  Would he ask her to stay with him tonight? Would they take up when they got back to his house where they’d left off after Jim’s call? She hoped so, wished his hands were on her body, not the leather-covered steering wheel.

  And as she went into the hospital to see Mary and Jim, she wished all she wanted from Jared was for him to take care of the fierce physical need that raged in her body.

  Chapter Eight

  She looked so damn hot wearing the loose purple dress that Jared wondered how he ever could have thought her ordinary, looks-wise. Althea’s beauty came from the inside out, or maybe it was that he wanted her so much she’d become a beauty in his eyes.

  In the light of the full moon, she smiled slightly in her sleep. She’d seemed disappointed when he’d sent her to bed alone last night. Would she stay with him now if he asked her to?

  He drove up the winding road to his cabin. Instead of pulling into the garage, he parked next to her SUV and shut off the engine. Gently, he touched her face then smoothed an errant strand of hair off her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered as she opened her eyes.

  “We’re back.”

  She smiled. “May I stay?”

  “I was hoping you’d want to.” He got out of the car and walked around it, suddenly hit with the realization he was dead tired. Normal since he’d had no more than a few hours’ sleep during the past three days. “I’d like to fall asleep in your arms,” he told her as he opened the passenger door and let her out. That was just about all he’d be up for doing, at least until he got a few hours’ rest.

  Walking arm in arm with her, through moonlight-dappled darkness toward the floodlights that illuminated the porch, gave Jared an unfamiliar feeling. A feeling of coming home. He realized how much he’d missed this sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced for years, since he’d lived farther up the mountain with his parents.

  He imagined the quilt Althea was making draped across his bed—their bed. What other feminine touches would she add that would make his house their home?

  A crazy thought for sure. Where had it come from? Jared tried to force it out of his head. After all, he’d proven with Marcie that he wasn’t even passable husband material.

  He reined in his imagination and chalked up his aberrant fantasy to exhaustion as they went upstairs. “You take the bathroom first.” While she did, he stared out the bedroom window at stars that had never before appeared so bright.

  “I borrowed one of your shirts,” she said when she came back.

  The tail of his long-sleeved white dress shirt came nearly to her knees, framed gorgeous, lightly tanned legs. “That shirt never looked so good on me. Come here.”

  She looked at him and smiled then walked into his outstretched arms. Her warm breath tickled his chest, sending blood slamming through his weary veins, straight to his cock.

  “Your turn for the shower,” she said, her tone as suggestive as the words were casual.

  Maybe he wasn’t as tired as he’d thought. His cock was awake enough, and his balls felt as though they were about to burst. He’d tuck her in bed, take a quick shower. And then…

  When he crawled in bed beside her a few minutes later, she was sleeping. Just as well. He was feeling muscles he’d forgotten he had, and he ached from his temples to his toes. There was always tomorrow, he promised himself as he drew Althea against his body spoon-style and went to sleep.

  When he woke up, it was to her goodbye kiss. “Stay,” he told her, still more than half asleep but already hard with wanting her.

  “I have to open the shop. Besides, I want to start quilting this.” She picked up his quilt top then shot him a sweet, sleepy smile. The bright design on her shirt made her eyes look impossibly blue. The matching shorts gave him an arousing view of those long, shapely legs he imagined wrapped tight around his waist, clasping him as they fucked.

  If they ever did. He tamped down his desire, tried for a smile. Not for the first time he reminded himself no one had ever died from sexual frustration. “Come back tonight?”

  “I should work on your quilt if I’m going to get it done when I promised.”

  For some reason he couldn’t put in words, he wanted her to work on that quilt in his house. “Do it here.” What he really wanted was for her to do it here. Her presence made the rooms come alive and transformed the elaborate cabin into a home. “I like the idea of you doing my quilt right in the house where it’s going to stay.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have a quilting frame.”

  “I’ll buy one. You sell them, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He drew her down beside him and stroked the patchwork she held over her heart. “I’ll set the frame up in front of the fireplace, and you can do your thing while I check out a new game or two. Then if luck’s with us, we can come up here to bed. I want to continue where we left off the other night.”

  Smiling, she bent over and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue. “That sounds too good to pass up. I’ll bring us some dinner. See you about six o’clock. Sweet dreams ‘til then.” She kissed him hard, then got up and hurried out the door.

  Wishing she’d have stayed now, he listened to the fading sounds her feet made as she went down the stairs.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  She’d slept in two strange beds, both Jared’s, for the past three nights. And still they hadn’t made love. Had sex, she amended, thinking that was the proper term since neither of them had even made a feeble effort at feigning love.

  Some success you are as a seductress, Althea.

  She drove down Big Bear Mountain onto the winding highway, slowing to a crawl as she passed by the tiny church where her father had preached and she’d attended all her life. A glance at the small graveyard next door reassured her the wreath she’d put on Bill’s grave last month was still in place and that the plastic flowers in the urn between her parents’ headstones hadn’t faded too much yet in the summer sun.

  Thank God there wasn’t another funeral in her immediate future. Mary and the baby would be all right.

  She frowned. Somehow she’d made it through this latest crisis without reliving too much of the pain she’d felt when Bill had died. She wondered why.

  Then it hit her. She’d had Jared to lean on, to hold her hand until the danger had passed. He’d been her anchor.

  When she pulled into the parking lot at her shop and stopped the car, she closed her eyes and tried to picture Bill. But she saw Jared’s face instead.

  She’d promised herself whatever might happen with Jared would be strictly physical. There would be no emotional commitment. No love. No emotion at all beyond wanting and mutual respect.

  When, Althea wondered, had the enigmatic executive gotten under her skin?

  Her vow to guard her heart, to concentrate totally on physical sensation and sexual fulfillment was not working anymore. So how was she going to squelch the tender emotions he brought out in her by being a genuinely lovable guy?

  She didn't have a clue, other than to keep in mind the differences in their lifestyles, to remind herself of her resolve to keep it strictly physical each time she saw him. And to immerse herself in work. When she pulled up in front of her cabin, she fished out her keys, but went straight to the shop. Maybe there, she could keep Jared Cain off her mind.

  The way she did every day, she straightened stock and waited on customers. When Jared walked in around eleven o'clock, she was on the phone with Bea Elder, letting the woman know the matching twin bed quilts she had placed on consignment more than a year earlier had finally sold.

  “Big sale?” he asked after she hung up.

  “It was, for the lady who made the quilts. She's been calling nearly every day the past few months wondering if any of my customers showed any interest in her quilts.”

  Jared glanced down at the counter then picked up a round fabric cutter. His expression sober, he appeared to give the tool a thorough inspection before meeting Althea's gaze. “I didn't know you did consignment
s.”

  “I don't, not really. When somebody wants to sell their crafts, I put them in the store if I think they will sell. Bea’s no artist, but she does pretty good hand quilting. And she needs every bit of money she can get. She's trying to raise her daughter’s two kids on nothing but her social security disability checks.”

  “How would having this co-op you were telling me about help Bea any more than you help her by letting her sell her stuff here in the store?”

  Althea handed Jared two quilted pillow tops. “Bea made the blue one. There's nothing really wrong with it, but…” She shrugged.

  He studied both pieces, then met her gaze. “It's really not as attractive as the other one.”

  “You’re right. In a co-op, women who make quilts to sell would split up the work based on who does what part of the process best. Bea, for instance, would do the hand quilting on quilt tops someone else made. She's good and fast at that, while other quilters are better designing, cutting and piecing. Trina Wells, who pieced your quilt, is one of the best I've ever seen at that part of quilt making, but she can't do the actual quilting at all.”

  Jared smiled. “I see. The co-op would have sort of a small-scale assembly line, with everybody doing what they do best I imagine Mom would've liked that sort of factory a lot better than the one she worked in after we moved to Atlanta.”

  “Where did she work?”

  “At a company that made ceramic dishes. She sprayed glaze onto plates before they went into the kilns.”

  Althea saw the pain that briefly crossed his face. “It sounds as though working on craft projects would have been considerably more fun.”

  “I imagine it would have been. Mom came home exhausted every night, hacking and coughing from the smell of the glaze. I never heard her mention the word ‘fun’ in connection with her job.”

  The sadness that radiated from his eyes sobered Althea. She had a sudden urge to hold him, hug away memories she was certain caused him pain. “I imagine your mom must have been glad to have any job so she could take care of you.”

  “Yeah. I'm just sorry she didn't live long enough to benefit from my success.”

  She reached out and touched Jared's hand. ”I'm sure she's looking down from heaven, proud as she can be of how her boy turned out.”

  “I hope so. He squeezed her fingers and gave her a halfhearted smile. “What is it you want to do at your co-op, besides assembly-line production of quilts?”

  “I plan to advertise for local women to bring in all kinds of things they've made on a consignment basis — everything from needlework to artwork to homemade jellies and cider. We'll package the crafts distinctively at the co-op, and then sell them at wholesale to specialty stores all over the country.”

  “It sounds as though your co-op might make life a lot easier for women around here, especially since there’s not a lot of regular industry for folks who don’t have a lot of formal education.”

  His apparent enthusiasm encouraged her to go on. “Maybe we could eventually set up a retail online store. The co-op could open up all sorts of doors for people who need help to stay in these mountains and make a decent living while holding on to their pride.”

  He nodded but his brow creased as though he was doing some serious thinking. “Wouldn't putting a craft co-op practically next door to your store hurt your business?” he asked after a moment's pause.

  Meeting his thoughtful gaze, she smiled. “I don't think so. My main business here is selling quilting supplies and fabric, not the finished quilts I've made. I sell some, of course. A couple from Chattanooga just bought those twin bed quilts to give their twin grandsons for Christmas. They'd really wanted another set I’d made, but Bea’s were cheaper.”

  “Would they have bought yours if you hadn't had hers?”

  “Probably not. They struck me as folks who'd set a budget and meant to keep to it.”

  Jared set the pillow tops down. “How much would it take to set this co-op up in business?”

  Althea named a figure that would get it off the ground. At least it would have, eighteen months ago. Why?”

  “Because I might be able to help.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Might he be willing to share his knowledge about starting a business, maybe even give her some pointers as to how she might turn her dreams into reality?

  “Maybe I’d like to help out as sort of a tribute to my mom…” His voice trailed off as though he was deep in thought. Then he grinned. “We can talk more about it later. How about pointing me in the direction of that frame you'll need if you're going to work on my quilt at my place?”

  “To your left.”

  He glanced first at the boxed stands, then at the big frame she'd set up front and center in the store. “That's the one you usually use, isn't it?”

  “When I'm here. If I'm working at home, I use a smaller one, a lot like the portable frame by your left foot.”

  “Why?”

  “I don't have enough room in my cabin to set up a full size frame.”

  “There's plenty of empty space in my living room.” He moved over to the big frame and ran a finger across the smoothly sanded pine. “Do you have another one like this?”

  “Yes. It’s up there.” She gestured toward a large, ceiling high shelf on the west wall of the store.

  He glanced at the top of a shelf where several disassembled frames were collecting dust, and pulled one down. “How much talent does it take to put one of these things together?” He looked at the tied-together bunches of sanded wood pieces, a puzzled look on his face. “I’ve never been too good at putting together jigsaw puzzles.”

  “It does look sort of like a giant puzzle, but all it takes to put it together is a hammer, a screwdriver and a little effort. I can—”

  “I'll do it.” He grinned, as if eager to meet the challenge offered by some smooth sanded pine and a bag of hardware.

  She tried to give him the frame, but he insisted on paying the full price she'd marked on it when she'd bought half-a-dozen from Jim last December. Call for the bulky frames was spotty, but she'd seen her purchase as a way of helping Jim out—keeping his family from doing without too much while his business had been suffering through a slow spell last winter.

  Chapter Nine

  Back at home, Jared set up the quilting frame. When he glanced at his watch he sighed. It hadn’t taken long enough. He had five more hours to go before Althea would be here again. He could work, or he could go outside and split more logs from a hickory tree that had blown over during a storm.

  Neither option appealed. As he sat on the porch sipping coffee, he watched the crystalline water tumble over rocks in the creek on its journey to the valley, he imagined a craft co-op being no longer Althea’s dream but a reality.

  He could help her make it happen. It was too late to save his mother from years of drudgery, not to mention what had seemed like centuries of his uncle’s grudging charity. Maybe a co-op would keep other families from having to leave the mountains to go places they weren't wanted—places where they didn't fit in.

  Setting his empty cup on the counter, Jared grabbed his keys. An hour later he was having lunch with his real estate agent in a little restaurant on the square in Blairsville, explaining what he had in mind.

  “Althea’s had her eye on this piece of property,” Harriet Tucker said as she flipped through her listing book. “Here. It used to be a gas station, years ago. Then they turned it into a flea market. It hasn't been used at all for five or ten years, I don't guess. But it's cheap.”

  Jared glanced from the photo of a shabby building to the facing page where asking price, acreage and financing information was summarized. “Cheap is the operative word. Would the owner consider demolishing the building?”

  “I'm sure he would, but Althea wants to fix it up and use it for a warehouse.” Harriet shrugged. “Problem is, she doesn't have much money, and the bank wants a good-sized down payment before they'll finance the project. She's tryin
g to use everything she can and cut corners wherever it's possible. “

  His mother used to cut a lot of corners. Even now Jared's toes cramped up when he recalled the pair of black loafers he'd had to wear to church every Sunday for two years after they'd moved in with his uncle, until he no longer had been able to cram his feet into them. “If I’m going to help Althea do this, I'll do it right. Let's go see this place.”

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Located on the winding two-lane road ten minutes from Blairsville, the property Althea had picked out for the co-op reminded Jared of a ghost town, complete with a rutted parking lot overrun with weeds and debris. The building she intended to salvage listed to one side as though it was waiting for the next strong wind to bring it down and send its rotting pieces tumbling down the mountain.

  “I suppose you could shore it up, replace the roof,” Harry said, her tone interminably cheerful as she picked her way carefully in high heeled pumps over broken concrete where Jared imagined there once had been a pair of old-fashioned gas pumps.

  He walked around the derelict building and pictured it gone, replaced by a new, sturdy structure big enough for the craftspeople to do their work as well as store their products.

  “Can trucks get in here?” He tried to recall whether any of the bridges they'd crossed had low weight limit warnings. There was that tunnel down the road, too. He doubted a tractor-trailer rig could make it through the low clearance.

  “Big ones can't. That's one reason the property is so reasonably priced. Althea said she'd buy a pickup truck, pack up orders here and drive them to Blairsville for shipping.”

  His mother would have said Althea was planning to “make do.” Jared thanked Harriet for showing him the place. Before they left, he made arrangements for her to take him to see some larger, more accessible properties the next day.

  For the first twenty-some-odd years of his life, Jared had made do. When he'd banked his first million, he'd sworn he'd never settle again for less than what he wanted. If he was going to help Althea realize her dream, he'd see to it that her co-op would be first class from the start.