The back corner of the post needed another pass with the sandpaper. “I may not know what I want when it comes to men, but I do know what I don’t want.” She cringed. “That sounded harsher than I meant.”
“No, I get it.” And Brooke would. “Paul never was your type.” Brooke was always curious but seldom pushy. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. You’re going to owe me big time for this one, but I brought you something.” Brooke picked up the cat and stroked his fur, both of them with a satisfied look.
“And what might that be?” Frankie was skeptical. In the same way Cogsworth had been known to leave mouse “presents” at Frankie’s back door, Brooke had been known to collect treasures for Frankie. While she didn’t always know what could be done with them, Brooke knew quality when she saw it, so chances were, the surprise would be worth taking a look at.
“Only your biggest haul ever.” Brooke leaned a hip against the workbench and then thought better of it, standing up straight again and brushing off her clothes.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Frankie warned her with an upheld index finger. “Remember when Mrs. Fogerty passed away, and her family did the estate sale themselves instead of hiring someone to price things? That was pure windfall for me.”
“Well, okay, maybe not that good, but the price is right.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow. “What’s it going to cost me?” She stepped toward the door, but Brooke blocked it.
“Monetarily? Nothing.” Brooke let the cat down. “Lucy convinced the new eye doc to donate it to you—he just wanted it out of his office so he could ‘start fresh.’” Brooke made air quotes with each word. “But you owe me some kind of finder’s fee.”
“I’ll have to see if it’s worth finding first.” It probably would be, especially at free, but she liked teasing Brooke. “If it’s too bad, I may have to charge you the landfill fee instead.”
“Ha.” Brooke shook her head and opened the door for Frankie. “Give me a little credit here.”
Brooke waved a graceful hand at the alley full of furniture and a couple boxes of odds and ends. Frankie walked amid old chairs, brass planters, a table circa 1980, and cheap prints in too-bright metal frames. The antique snowshoes and ice skates alone would be worth a fortune to collectors. And the lopsided brass floor lamp would be the perfect base for an upcycle project. The question would be deciding what to repurpose with it—a trombone, ooh, or maybe antique wooden skis.
“Your sister is my new hero.” Frankie ran her fingers over the lines of the table. The routed wheat design would date it no matter what color she decided to paint or stain it, but she loved the challenge of figuring out how to work around such problems. Maybe she’d find an appliqué to cover it, or better … She was sure she could figure something out.
“My sister?” Brooke feigned offense. “I could just as easily have convinced her to call Goodwill across town, you know. The new optometrist didn’t have a preference.”
“Lucy loves me; she wouldn’t have allowed that.”
This time Brooke laughed soundly. “She actually said she was going to take them home and refinish them herself. Said she would sell them on Craigslist.” Another snort escaped. “I’d love to see that happen, but it probably would have ended up filling her garage for the next two months, and come the first big snowfall in October, she’d have been sorry.”
“You’re right, I do owe you.” Frankie grabbed the lamp in one hand and one of the smaller chairs in the other. “Now if you help me bring all this in, I’ll spring for an ice-cold bottle of vitamin water.”
“You don’t know the half of it yet.” Brooke clasped her hands over her heart in a mock swoon. “Lucy says the new doc, Doctor Wells”—Brooke stressed each word—“is gorgeous and single.” Brooke dropped her hands back to her sides. “And this coming from my very married sister who doesn’t usually notice those kinds of things.”
“She’s trying to set you up with him.” Frankie walked into the stock area of the shop to find a place for everything. Before she could sell anything, she’d have to figure out what was functional, what could be sold as is, and what would be better for improvement projects—her favorite part of the business. Then she’d price each piece and move them to the front of the shop for customers.
“Mentioning it is about as close as Lucy gets to fixing me up. Unlike some people I know.” Brooke was smug, as if setting people up was a bad thing. Frankie grabbed one end of the couch, and Brooke lifted the other.
Frankie wouldn’t let the barb slip by unchallenged. “Can I help it if I like to see my friends happy?” Nothing felt better than helping two people find their perfect match.
So far, she only had credit for matching a few couples, but those couples were still together, and that was satisfying.
“What about you?” Brooke set her end of the couch down with a loud exhale. Frankie, too, was winded. That sucker was heavy. “When is it your turn to be happy, Frankie?”
The prick of a bad memory stung, but Frankie knew Brooke wasn’t referring to the shambles of her broken engagement. It was so far in the past, Brooke probably didn’t realize Frankie still obsessed over it eight years later.
“I am happy! Life is good.” Frankie flopped onto the couch for a breather. “I get to do exactly what I love—fixing things up. And live exactly where I want. Cobble Creek is the most adorable small town in America, the crown jewel of Wyoming, if you ask me.”
“And unfortunately, no one has,” Brooke chimed in.
Frankie ignored the interruption. “Smack-dab in the middle of the most gorgeous place on earth.” She closed her eyes, remembering some of her favorite hikes. “The side benefit of business flagging this year is that I’ve had more time to enjoy summer. Hiking the Big Three in consecutive weekends was amazing.” Her “Big Three”—Thor Peak, Table Mountain, and Mount Meek—were the three highest peaks in the Grand Teton range at over eleven thousand feet each. They’d long been on her bucket list, and this summer had been the first year she had both the fitness level and the time to make them happen.
The first couple of years she’d experienced the summer sales slump, Frankie had been terrified her business would go under, but her father was able to allay her fears. He’d kept his shop afloat for more than a quarter century. And when Frankie realized that the revenue collected each fall and winter as the skiers wandered into town more than made up for the slump of the other two seasons, she learned to try to go with the flow.
Because of that, she’d been determined to exploit this year’s opportunity to its fullest.
“I’m sure they were beautiful, but wouldn’t it have been more fun with a guy?”
“Friends are better.” Or so Frankie had trained herself to think. Ever since she’d allowed herself to get way too distracted by a man in college, neglecting her familial duties to a disastrous degree, Frankie had stepped away from dating. She’d been removed from it long enough to realize that she was actually pretty happy, even without a man in her life. “If I had a man, we’d be back to the whole ‘kids’ debate.” She forced a silly grimace to make it look like she was joking, but in reality, it was the most honest thing Frankie had said in a long time.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Brooke was horrified. “You can’t actually mean that.”
“Kids are fine, but then they become teenagers, and as you remember, I’m not so good with those.” Guilt shot through her like the electric current through a hot fence. “Besides, I’m not sure I have energy left over for a relationship when I put my heart and soul into my work.”
Brooke sighed and shook her head. “Someday, some guy will come along and change all that.” She helped Frankie bring in the last of the items from the alley.
Could that actually be true? Would there ever be a love so all-consuming, so powerful to wipe away the last vestiges of regret and fear? Could such a person help her through her concerns rather than dismiss them as Marc had done? Could love convince her it was all worth the risk? Of course
she wanted love. Of course she wanted a family. She’d just learned early on that she wasn’t good at either of them.
“As for kids,” Brooke continued, “one step at a time, for goodness’ sake. They come as adorable babies no one can resist, and by the time they’re teenagers, they’ve got you wrapped around their little fingers so tightly you can’t help but love them.”
Unfortunately, Frankie knew that all too well, even if, in her experience, it was her brother rather than her offspring.
This time it was Brooke who flopped down on the couch. Maybe this one would have to stay. It was way too comfortable to sell and way too heavy to move.
Brooke continued, “Not only that, but you kind of need to find a man and fall in love before you have to worry about the whole kid thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re right.” Frankie locked the back door and pulled two cold drinks from her mini fridge, tossing one to Brooke. “You also know I’m waiting for you to try it. You always do things first—you got your ears pierced first, you shaved your legs first, you even got your driver’s license first. All these years, you going first kept me safe.” The only exception had been her serious relationship with Marc, and that had ended disastrously. “So after you jump in and tell me the water’s fine, I’ll think about it.”
Considering Brooke was magazine-model gorgeous with her thick, honey-blond curls and waif-thin figure as opposed to Frankie’s stick-straight brown hair and curvy body, Frankie was taking a chance in making that statement. Brooke could be snapped up any day, especially if there was an available new guy in town, and Frankie would have a big promise to fulfill.
Frankie nodded toward the front of the shop, questioning if Brooke was ready to leave. Brooke’s response was to stand, and Frankie grabbed her purse.
“Whatever.” Brooke swatted her arm. “You know I wouldn’t mind, but we both have taken a few wrong turns when it’s come to men.” She paused, allowing seriousness to settle in the air. “All I’m saying is, if you find the right guy, Frankie, don’t throw him out just because you’re content, or worse, scared of the very long run. You never know when the right one will come along.”
“And all I’m saying is I’m good. Really, truly good. Now that I have my own store, I have everything I’ve always wanted.”
Chapter 4
Logan was tempted to kick the wobbly looking legs of the fancy ironing board flower-planter as he walked around the clutter on the sidewalk. Instead, he kicked himself for being so stinking idealistic. He should have known better. He should have driven his lazy self up to Cobble Creek to check out Doc Morgan’s practice with his own eyes instead of relying on Skype, real estate agents and inspectors, financial summaries, and word of mouth before he’d made the decision to up and move. He’d heard “Cobble Creek” and “sustainable optometry clinic” and jumped at the chance without knowing the horrors that existed next door. A junk shop. It hardly even seemed legit. The best he could hope was that the shop wasn’t infested with rats.
A bell over the scarred wooden door jingled as Logan stalked in. How quaint. He was poised to allow his sarcastic thoughts to spew through the room, but in that one moment the sickeningly sweet sound, so quintessentially small-town, reminded him he’d better check his frustration at the door. A civil conversation with his new neighbor would do more to solve the problem than harsh words.
“Welcome! Feel free to browse, and I’ll be right with you,” a woman’s voice called from another room. “Or if you have something you need fixed, bring it on back.”
The voice was younger than his thirty-four years but certainly not a teenager’s. Logan followed the sound as it led him through a maze of furniture groupings, arranged as if they were a series of small sitting rooms rather than what it actually was—a grandiose garage sale. At least the presentation in here was better than it was outside.
The first thing he noticed about the woman who raised her head from a project was that she had three pairs of glasses on. Sunglasses tugged at her V-neck shirt, and protective goggles were tucked into her shining chestnut hair, holding it from falling into her eyes. The third set of glasses were cheap drugstore cheaters perched on her nose that she was at least fifteen years too young for. If she needed them at thirty, he needed to take a look at her eyes. He’d have Lucy make an appointment for her.
“How can I help?”
“I have a matter that needs fixing,” he said, referring to her comment about bringing things that needed fixed back to her. Not that this was what she was thinking when she made the offer, but his statement was true. “May I speak to the owner? Is Frank here?” He looked around the shop, but she was alone.
“I’m the owner, Frankie. Is there something I can help you with?” Her magnified brown-green hazel eyes blinked behind the plastic lenses.
Oops. She was going to think he was some kind of sexist pig, but in his own defense, the store sign clearly read Frank & Signs, emphasis on the Frank.
He stuck out his hand. “Hi, Frankie. I’m Logan.” He nodded his head to the left. “I’m your new neighbor. I took over Doc Morgan’s practice.”
She shrugged, completely unimpressed—not that he expected her to be, but he had expected something … interest, perhaps? “I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?” His mind scrambled with possibilities, and Lucy was the most likely culprit.
“The Cobble Creek Chamber of Commerce catalogs everyone that comes into town.” There wasn’t even a twitch of a smile.
She was so completely serious, Logan found himself considering the possibility that she was telling the truth, and then realized how ridiculous it was. “A case of the small-towns, is it?”
A corner of her lips lifted, and a sparkle lit her eye. While she was pretty before, this change, combined with her sense of humor, made her even more so.
“Yes. Process of elimination.” She set her small screwdriver next to some gears, and lifted her hand to meet his. “Though I have to admit I didn’t know your first name.” Her hand was warm in his and softer than he expected, considering her occupation. “Well, Dr. Logan, what can I do for you?”
“You need to get your junk …” Frankie stiffened, and Logan stopped mid-sentence, but he couldn’t suppress the heavy sigh that escaped.
She pulled her hand back as if he’d burned her. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my creations as junk.”
Logan was impressed with her calm tone, despite his obvious attack on something special to her. “All in the eye of the beholder,” he countered.
“Yes, it is.”
Frustration gnawed at his insides. “Perhaps you don’t realize the liability you have on our sidewalk.”
He waited for a reaction, an understanding of some sort, but a confused look crinkled her forehead. Was she that naïve?
“Mrs. Erickson tripped over your”—he stopped himself from saying anything derogatory again—“display on her way to her car. We’re lucky she wasn’t seriously injured. Lucy saw it happen and hurried out to smooth things over.” At least he hoped Lucy had been able to smooth things over. Wouldn’t that be an epic first week—to have a lawsuit slapped on him before he even changed his driver’s license over to his new state?
“Is she okay?” Despite her words, Frankie didn’t look that worried.
“Yes, but …”
Frankie picked up her screwdriver and began tinkering.
Blown away by her dismissive attitude, Logan stepped forward to see what she found more pressing than averting future litigious consequences. “I just think we need to make sure everything is out of the way of foot traffic in the future.” When she still didn’t respond, he looked closer. “Are those clock parts?” He hardly registered her nod. “And a lamp?” An odd combination.
“Only a wild-hair idea at this point. I’m not sure where it’s going yet.”
Brushing off his concern in such a way was staggeringly maddening. “You’re like that guy on Toy Story …” He was pleased with the
accusation in his tone. “What was his name?”
“You can’t mean Sid?” Frankie quit dabbling and stared at him for a second before she scoffed. “That’s not very nice, you know.” She shook her head but smiled so big a dimple in her left cheek popped in her mirth.
“I guess it wasn’t.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his own smile emerging. A light bulb went off in his head. “And that’s why the name of the store—Frank & Signs. Like Frankenstein’s. Basically, you’re admitting you are just like Sid—and Dr. Frankenstein.” He’d noticed all the cutesy vinyl sayings on reclaimed wood and windows decorating the walls of the store and figured that’s where the “Signs” part came from, but this was way better.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, defiance hardening her face. “My dad has held this corner for forty years as Frank & Sons Welding, but when he gave it to me, I convinced him to expand to include both our interests. We went from fixing large farm equipment to fixing just about everything. Then, after a while, I needed a place to sell my creations, so we bought out the shop between Frank’s Welding and Doc Morgan’s and added the antique store part.” She shrugged with a false modesty.
He found this confidence and pride in her accomplishments attractive. Not bragging, but competent.
As much as he enjoyed meeting his new neighbor, it was the middle of the workday. “I should go; I have a few more appointments.” He’d been sidetracked long enough. “Can I use your alley door?” He wanted to slip back into his office with none of the waiting patients the wiser of his absence.
She shrugged that she didn’t care, and he started in that direction. Had she not even listened to his concerns? “If you don’t mind, straighten up the sidewalk so neither of us gets sued. That ironing board alone is an ER visit waiting to happen.”
“Also, you owe me one question.”
The Inventive Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots Page 2
