Rose

by Chris Keniston

  “And you, sir?” the young girl asked.

  “I’ll have the butter pecan as well. But make mine a double.” He nodded at the young lady and turned to Rose. “This way there’ll be time for you to tell me the story of Floyd’s.”

  She laughed again. He liked the sound of it. He was liking a lot of things about today. Even the dunk in the water this morning didn’t seem to be nearly as brisk or inconvenient as it had felt at the time.

  By the time she’d finished relaying the stories of how the barbershop had gotten its name, the afternoon checker games much like those seen on retro TV for decades, and how the beauty parlor found its owner, Logan was beginning to understand why his grandfather had been so taken by a town he’d only visited once or twice.

  Resisting the urge to wipe away a tiny drip of melted ice cream lingering at the corner of her mouth, he opted to merely hand her a napkin and then point to the same spot on his own face. The decision seemed the safer choice than actually allowing himself to touch her, however innocently. “Where to now?”

  “It’s getting a little late.” She glanced at her phone, then reached into her canvas and extracted the binder that she had lugged from donor to donor. “I think we’ve done enough for today. You’ve been a big help. I hadn’t really taken into account how heavy a refurbished steamer trunk could be.”

  “Honestly, I had never taken a steamer trunk into account at all.” He watched as she flipped the binder and meticulously checked off several boxes on one of the pages before initialing it and closing the cover. “Wouldn’t that be easier on a tablet or even your phone?”

  She shrugged. “I actually do have a great deal of this on computer. Even though I own a tablet, I find it more bulky to deal with.”

  “More bulky than an 8 x 11 binder?”

  “Let’s just say, it’s a bit like the book thing. I like the feel of actual paper. I prefer flipping a page then giving myself carpal tunnel scrolling on a screen. And quite frankly,” she slid the binder back in place, and stood, “if the unthinkable happened and the Internet collapsed for a day, or even an hour, me and my binder would be on top of the world.”

  “I love a good book as much as the next guy, but thank you very much, I’ll trust my computer over hand computations any day of the week.” Even though the odds of the cyber world as they knew it completely falling off the face of the earth for even a minute was completely out of the question, just the mere mention of the possibility made him cringe. “I seriously hope your confidence is never tested. I don’t even want to consider what would happen to everybody if the Internet and all its electronic connections simply disappeared.”

  Chuckling, she led the way to the door. “Imagine, people might actually have to speak to each other if they couldn’t text.” She held the door open for him. “Or schools would have to teach cursive so people could write love letters again.”

  He followed her out the door, rolling his eyes. “Why do I have a feeling you’re about to give me a very long list of why the world would be better off without technology?”

  “Because you strike me as a very smart man who catches on quickly.” That lovely smile of hers would be incredibly easy to get very attached to. “Do you want the whole list or just some of it?”

  Letting his head fall back, he barked out a laugh from deep down in his chest. The ride back to Hart House might prove to be the most interesting part of his day yet.

  Chapter Six

  “Man, this house always smells so good at dinnertime.” Lily’s husband Cole crossed the expansive kitchen and gave his flour covered wife a kiss on the cheek.

  Lucy glanced up from the pot she was stirring. “Normally I’d give your wife the credit, but since the biscuits haven’t got in the oven yet, I’m giving all of today’s credit to my gravy.”

  “I’ve known a lot of Italian grandmother’s gravy that can’t compete with yours,” Grant said as he came through the doorway, holding hands with Rose’s sister Violet.

  Violet sniffed the air, then wrapped each person in the room with a spine straightening hug. “I knew it was worth leaving Boston early.”

  “Oh, this is a lovely surprise.” Grams set the bundle of fabric braids aside to hug Violet and her fiancé, then turned to Lucy. “Did you know they were coming?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I expected that nice Mr. Buchanan would be joining us for dinner and I thought he might appreciate a good Yankee-made spaghetti sauce.”

  “Such a shame he’s having to work.” Grams sat back down in her spot.

  Rose shrugged. After having spent such an enjoyable afternoon she was a bit disappointed when the call came in from his boss in Texas. “I think if his grandfather, Captain Amlin , had been here, he might have passed the problem off to the next guy.”

  “Captain Amlin?” Cole’s chin tucked against his neck and his brows dipped in thought. “I wonder if that’s the same Captain Amlin my grandfather knows.”

  Grant spun about to face Cole. “My grandfather has a friend with that name too. They all went to Annapolis together.”

  Pausing from kneading, Lily looked to her husband and her cousins before her gaze settled on the men in front of her. “Wait a minute. Did I know that your grandfathers went to Annapolis?”

  “If you did,” Violet followed Lily’s gaze, “you know more than me.”

  “What’s your grandfather’s name?” Grant asked Cole.

  “Captain Donald McIntyre,” Cole responded.

  “I’ll have to ask if my grandfather knows him.”

  “Same here.” Cole nodded. “Though McIntyre isn’t that uncommon.”

  “Nope, but you know how the brass always seem to know each other.” Grant cocked his head to one side. “First time I ran into Jake, he recognized my grandfather’s name. Annapolis can be a small world.”

  “Especially after that big reunion last year,” Cole added.

  That caught Rose’s attention. She glanced at her grandmother studiously working on her project, almost oblivious to the conversation. Nothing unusual as the woman was always devoting herself to new hobby, though this time she seemed particularly engrossed in the beginnings of her rag rug. And Lucy, who always had something to say about everything, had conveniently stepped outside to feed Sadie and the new stray they’d sort of adopted.

  “The same reunion the General went to?” Lily asked.

  “That’s what I was wondering.” Rose once again looked to her grandmother, still braiding away. “Do these names ring a bell, Grams?”

  Fiona Hart lifted her head. “I’m sorry, dear, what? These darn seams keep turning out, doesn’t seem to look right. Perhaps I’m trying too hard.”

  “Trying too hard to what?” Lucy came through the back door, a large aluminum dish in her hands.

  “This just doesn’t look right.” Grams held up the long string of fabric strips she’d sewn together and now carefully had spent hours braiding. Rose didn’t even want to think how her less than nimble-fingered grandmother was going to adhere those braids into a rug. At least not one that resembled a circle.

  Lucy sighed. “I think you should go back to the painting. I liked those stones.”

  “The quilted trivets are nice,” Lily added.

  “They do seem to come in handy.” Grams smiled, the crease between her brow disappearing.

  “Good grief.” Poppy rushed into the room. Instead of her usual bubbly cheer, she gave her grandmother a peck on the cheek, and dropped into the chair beside her. “For God fearing Christians, sometimes the church board of directors can be real jerks.”

  “Uh oh.” Lucy turned off the water and stilled with the filled bowl in her hand. “What happened?”

  “Just another argument over whether or not to start a Mother’s Day Out program. I’ve never been happier to see a day come to an end. I didn’t even have time for lunch. I am seriously ready to eat whatever smells so good.”

  “Whatever?” Lily looked up. “It’s Lucy’s gravy.”

  “Oh,
man. Now I’m really hungry.” Poppy made a half-hearted effort to push to her feet.

  “You stay put.” Violet finished tying the apron behind her back. “We got this, and like you, I’m ready to put some food on those quilted trivets. Is the table set?”

  “Not yet,” Lily answered.

  “I’ll get the dishes.” Grant turned on his heel, winked at Violet, and headed for the cupboard.

  Cole bobbed his head. “I’ll get the silverware.”

  Both men were as much at home in the household as the women who were raised there. It was nice to see. As a matter of fact, it was nice to see so many of her cousins one by one finding guys who made them truly happy. The dating world was so full of clueless buffoons, self-centered morons, or just plain boring men, she hadn’t thought about finding a lifelong mate in ages. Maybe when she got back to Boston she should look into one of those online dating apps. Not that her cousins had needed matchmaking technology. They seemed to have done just fine without anyone’s help.

  * * * *

  From day one, Logan had told his supervisors the deadline was unrealistic. With so much support coming from across the world in a completely different time zone, there simply was not enough time for everyone to work together. Never mind push the new product out to the real world. At least he was able to fix the more pressing complication with a few minor code changes, but if they expected him to resolve the other issues, they were simply going to have to wait until after this week.

  Whether his grandfather joined him or not, he’d already enjoyed the start of this vacation more than any he could remember since he was a kid. There was no way he was letting the real world get in the way. Of course it hadn’t hurt that the call with his boss had dropped three times in less than fifteen minutes, allowing him to claim he simply did not have the bandwidth needed to be much help. He wasn’t about to suggest he could probably find some place to work from with a reasonable high speed Internet connection, if not in Lawford proper, in a bigger nearby town.

  Having the best Internet connection from the large rocker of the front porch had turned out to be the one bright side to spending the last few hours on his computer. Sending off his last email to his counterpart across the world, he signed off and closed the laptop. Everyone was now officially, and truly, on their own. If they couldn’t figure this mess out without him, well they were just SOL.

  The downside to having spent all this time on his porch was that he’d missed dinner at the big house and hadn’t really prepared anything on his own. Though he noticed the refrigerator came stocked with basics. He could probably scramble some eggs, or throw a sandwich together. Neither of which sounded terribly appetizing after having been spoiled with a large breakfast, and a delicious lunch with the Hart family. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Maybe he should just take a ride into town and try out the diner with the big pink neon sign. Greasy spoons and small towns were known for great food—usually. It might be worth taking a chance on.

  “Done with work, or just taking a break?” The soft voice from over his shoulder was a welcome change. The delicious aromas blowing his way from the tray Rose held in her hand made his stomach rumble. Only one day eating Hart food and already he’d turned into Pavlov’s dog, salivating at the sight of a dinner tray. Though it was definitely the sight of the redheaded messenger that was making his heart race. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “If there’s one thing in this world that Lucy loves more than matchmaking, it’s feeding people.”

  He’d actually meant her arrival, not the food, but it was probably best he not correct her. “Is this another one of those long stories like Floyd the barber and Betty the hairdresser?”

  Rose laughed. “You might say that. The short version is Lucy thinks of herself as Hello Dolly. Has the song on her phone as a ring tone, and creates havoc anytime she makes any effort to hook two people up. That’s all I’m saying. Well, that and she hasn’t burned the house down yet.”

  For a woman who had serious taste in reading and a job that not just any slouch could do, especially not at her young age, she had an entertaining way of turning a phrase to leave anyone wanting more. He certainly felt that way, and about more than just her stories.

  “If you haven’t eaten yet, spaghetti is still warm.” Balancing the tray on her hip, she lifted the cloth covering the meal high enough for him to see the covered dish, the bread which he guessed was homemade, a dessert he couldn’t quite make out but looked good enough to make his stomach rumble again—this time more loudly, and the piece de resistance, a cold beer. “I grabbed one of the General’s favorite beers on my way out the door. Sort of an extra thank you for not biting my head off this morning and all your help this afternoon.”

  “As far as a peace offering goes, this was pretty good. It’ll just hit the spot.”

  She flashed him another of those smiles worthy of a toothpaste commercial that set his heart racing once again. “Shall I put this inside or leave it here?”

  “Oh.” He set the laptop down and pushed to his feet, reaching for the tray. “Let me.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it. Where do you want it?”

  “Here on this table will be fine. If you’ll join me, I hate to eat alone.” Did that sound as needy to her as it did to him? Or as lame? Didn’t most single adults eat alone these days.

  “I’ve already eaten but never turn down an offer to enjoy a nice view of the lake.”

  Anything that kept her here longer worked for him. “I’m not sure what else there is to drink in the fridge.”

  She lifted the cover on the other side of the tray, displaying a second beverage. “Just in case.” One corner of her mouth tipped up in a sly grin.

  “Shall I get a glass?” he asked through his own amusement.

  “Only if you want one.”

  He raised a brow at her, but remained silent.

  “Yeah.” Her soft chuckle was as pleasant as her smile. “You didn’t look like the glass kind of guy.”

  “Does it count if my grandmother would only drink her beer from a glass? Preferably tall and chilled.”

  Her shoulders bounced as her chuckle grew into a sweet laugh. “Definitely counts.”

  For the next few minutes they adjusted porch furniture. He dragged the table to the other side of his rocker, and she inched it closer then moved the second rocker at an angle to face the lake. By the time she was done the porch was staged perfectly to almost face each other and still get the perfect evening views.

  “So you’re not just this way with trucks and antiques.”

  Rose set her chair rocking and laughed. “We never would have fit everything in the truck if we’d done it your way.”

  “My way wasn’t that bad.” He stabbed at a forkful of pasta.

  “No, not at all. Especially when you came within inches of tossing the bird cage onto a hundred year old oil painting.”

  “Did you get a good look at the thing? Trust me, I was doing you a favor.”

  Shaking her head, she bit back another laugh. “That from a man who handled a stuffed fish with the care of a newborn babe.”

  He swallowed another bite of the best pasta dinner he’d ever had. “That wasn’t just a fish, it was a blue marlin. Do you have any idea how much these fishermen are likely to pay for that?”

  “Apparently more than a twentieth century landscape in oils.”

  This time he laughed. “See? You’re catching on.” Truth was she’d packed that truck so neat and tight, had she said she moonlighted for a moving company, he’d have believed her.

  “I certainly hope you’re right about that fish.” Lifting her heel, she set her chair rocking.

  “On this, trust me. And get used to saying marlin.” Practically having inhaled his dinner, he swallowed the last bite. “Perfect.”

  “Lucy’s pasta and gravy. Totally.”

  “Agreed, totally, but so is the night. I can’t remember the last time a summer evening was filled with pleasant temperatures and stu
nning views.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way.” Her gaze scanned the distance

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing yet, but forecasters are predicting a nasty storm to blow in. I just hope they’re wrong and it stays away till after the tournament.

  “Ditto.” Empty plate in hand, he stood. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Actually, that would be great.” She followed him into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot.

  “I can do that.” He pulled two mugs from the cabinet and waved one at her.

  “I know, but I’m happy to do it.”

  He considered that for just a moment and decided if the woman made coffee with the same efficiency she loaded a truck and not the way she cast a fishing rod, he’d be better off giving in. “Thanks.”

  “How do you take it?” She reached for the sugar bowl.

  He pulled the milk from the fridge. “Milk and sugar.”

  “Regular it is.”

  From behind the counter in the compact kitchen, he watched her pour out the coffee, noticing she used milk like him but skipped the sugar. Such a silly little thing but it pleased him to learn something new about the General’s granddaughter. He was most definitely enjoying learning more about Rose. So far everything about her had been teetering between simply interesting and absolutely fascinating. How long could he drag out drinking a single cup of coffee was the question at hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Today was proving to be a major improvement over yesterday. At least fish wise. In search of the sweet spot for the tourney, he’d spent most of yesterday morning and midday on the lake, moving from one disappointing location to another. Not even the delicious boxed brunch Lucy had dropped off or the pleasure of enjoying the meal under a massive willow that brought him back once again to his days with his uncle on the ranch had helped. To his chagrin, much like the creek back home, the fish didn’t seem to appreciate the peaceful locale as much as he had.

  The plan for his evening hadn’t gone any better. Walking to his cabin after his poor day of fishing, he’d noticed Rose working at a card table on the huge wrap around porch at the main house. Surrounded by stacks of papers and a phone perched between her shoulder and her ear, he could only imagine the amount of behind the scenes work she had on her plate. He’d attended many a fishing tournament, some of the biggest in the country even, but only a few had a fundraiser gala attached to it and most of those had a lot more help than one museum curator and a retired general and his family. Despite being the perfect opportunity on the surface for a casual visit, he knew she was short on time and most likely didn’t need the interruption. To resist the temptation of stopping and talking to her, he’d decided to take a few notes on a new idea that had popped into his head while waiting for the fish. There’d be another chance to visit tonight when he took the General up on his invitation to join the family for cards on the porch. The wrench in his backup plans came when instead of merely jotting down some ideas, he began tinkering, losing all track of time. When he’d looked up from his work it was way past any reasonable hour to join in the family fun, never mind run into the smiling redhead.