Lauren stood, stunned, in the garden. Slowly, she lifted her coffee mug to her lips and took a sip of the hot liquid, but she didn’t taste it. Had she been a fool to think he might be back? To see her? The engagement ring Charles had given her suddenly flashed in the morning light. She looked at it blankly. What’s the matter with me? she thought, suddenly annoyed. And did everyone in town know the inside of her house?
Still, she was feeling frantic. She had to find out more about this man who had elicited such a reaction from her. Just to put her mind at ease. She had given up trying to deny to herself that she was attracted to Caleb Cochran; as was her personality, she just wanted to face it and put the feeling to rest. Once and for all. His father would be just the man to ask.
Lauren hurried into the house and went down into the cellar. Bob was kneeling down on the damp, dirt floor, searching through his tool box for some elusive tool.
“Will this take long?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, no,” Bob said, not looking up. “This is a simple job. I’ll be out of here in half an hour.”
“Good,” replied Lauren, with affected authority. “I need to go into town and find a Realtor.” She paused for a moment. “What did you mean, ‘Caleb’s day at the firehouse’?”
“He’s a volunteer there one day and two nights a week. In this town, we’ve got only two full-time firemen, so us volunteers fill in.”
“He’s a busy guy,” remarked Lauren.
Bob set to work removing the old valve. As he did so, he said, “You’re listing this place? Gonna sell it?”
“Yes,” Lauren answered somewhat belligerently. “I live in New York City. Why would I want this place?”
“It’s a nice place, that’s all. You don’t find nice houses with this much good land so easily anymore. Especially here in Vermont.”
Lauren hardly heard him. She walked in a small circle behind him, trying to figure out how to phrase her next question correctly. Finally, she said, “Um, about Caleb. Yesterday he burned his arm here. How is it?”
“Okay, I guess,” replied Bob, struggling with a wrench on the pipe.
“Is he wearing a bandage or anything?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. He didn’t even mention it.”
“Kind of a tough guy, huh?”
“No, not particularly.” Then Bob turned around, eying her somewhat suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing,” Lauren said, chagrined. “Just trying to make sure he’s okay.” She was glad the cellar light was dim and he couldn’t see her color rising. “I — I feel kind of responsible. It was because of me that — that he was hurt.”
Lauren blinked as Bob Cochran looked at her, hard. Then he said, “Well, Caleb is fine. I know my son. He’s okay.”
Lauren gave up. “Tell him I asked about him, please?”
“I’ll do that,” said the man. Suddenly, he straightened up and faced her. He hesitated for a second before speaking. “Look, you seem awfully interested in Caleb’s aches and pains. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’m his dad. Caleb is a good looking, really nice guy, probably this town’s most eligible bachelor, I guess you’d say, but I can see you’re married or engaged or something. There’s a diamond the size of Gibraltar on your finger, so let me tell you something. Don’t toy with him. He’s been through enough!”
Lauren was silent for two seconds. Then she flared defensively, trying to cover her own embarrassment. “I don’t care what he’s been through! I was just concerned because he hurt himself here yesterday.” She paused and then added for extra emphasis, “I don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”
Caleb’s father turned back to his work. “Is that the kind of people you think we are? No need to be afraid of that, miss. We’re not interested in your money.” Then he chuckled and continued with the repair. Lauren wandered upstairs and back out into the garden.
It wasn’t long before Bob appeared. “Okay,” he said. “The job’s done. You should have more hot water than you can use.”
“Thanks,” said Lauren, subdued by the conversation in the cellar. “What do I owe you?”
“I have no idea. I just turn in parts and labor costs, and you get the bill.”
“Oh, well, do they have the address to send it to?”
“Just call the office.” The older man turned to go. His voice was gentler as he added, “I’ll tell Caleb you asked about his burn. And, if you want a good Realtor, just go to Town and Country Realty. They’re right in town. Ask for Joan. You have a good day, now.”
“Yes, you too,” said Lauren automatically. “Thanks again.”
Lauren watched the van drive down the road. Suddenly, she felt she must get in touch with someone in the city. She had to ground herself somehow. She pulled her iPhone out and punched the number key to summon that paragon of practicality, Kelly.
“Hey, how’s everything up in the wilderness?” said her jovial friend.
Ah, thought Lauren, a sane voice. She could picture her friend, round of cheek and figure, curly black hair cascading down her back. Bright black eyes snapping with common sense and intelligence.
“Well, it’s crazy up here!” answered Lauren, exasperated. “There was something wrong with the hot water, so I had to call a plumber. Then he couldn’t fix it until this morning. And he was rude! And then, I was awake most of the night, and when I did go to sleep, I dreamed about this plumber!”
“You dreamed about the plumber? What, did he have an ax or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone with him.”
“No, no, Kelly, it’s nothing like that. It wasn’t a bad dream. It was a, well, an intimate dream, if you get my drift.”
“Really! Well, he couldn’t have been too rude, or else he was cute. Was he cute?”
“I don’t know! It was the plumber, for God’s sake!”
“Yes, you do. He was cute, wasn’t he?”
Lauren blew through her nose. “Well, yes, okay. He was cute, but he was annoying.”
“Hmm.” Lauren could hear the mocking tone in Kelly’s voice. “He made a favorable impression of some kind, or you wouldn’t be having erotic dreams about him.”
“I think I just miss Charles.”
“Oh, yeah, that must be it, for sure.” Kelly’s voice was dry and flat.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Kell.”
Kelly, her best friend and maid of honor, had always found it difficult to hide her instinctive dislike of Charles. Lauren knew she covered it up for the sake of their friendship, but Kelly had said once to her, when Lauren had first begun dating Charles, “There’s just something that’s a bit too smooth. Not quite trustworthy, I say.”
Lauren had scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
Kelly had never brought it up again, but Lauren knew her feelings had not changed. Kelly, after all, did not have the frame of reference from which to judge Charles. Kelly’s own boyfriend was a chubby history professor at NYU with the personality of a golden retriever. There was no way she could possibly relate to a person of Charles’s stature. Still, Lauren loved her. Their friendship had grown steadily since college, and they had come to rely on each other through all the convolutions of their daily lives.
“What are you doing today?” Kelly asked, changing the subject.
“I still have to sign papers at the Realtor’s. Why couldn’t my parents have taken care of this?”
“You’re way too hard on your parents. They live in San Francisco, for heaven’s sake. And it’s your house, after all. Your grandmother left it to you. It’s much easier for you to do it. You’re very prickly this morning.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”
“Yeah, too much dream sex.”
They both laughed at that. Kelly could always make her laugh. Lauren could count on her to put things in the proper perspective, and she hoped she did the same for Kelly. They talked a little longer about what was going on at the museum, then Lauren looked at her watch — a Cartier with a platinum face rimmed
with diamonds. Charles had given it to her for her birthday. “Oh, Kelly, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get into town and find a Realtor to list this place.”
“Okay, get your work done and get back here,” said her friend. “Careful, or you’ll be going native on me!”
Lauren laughed. “No chance of that! Talk to you soon.”
She hung up, shaking her head and smiling to herself.
Then she gathered up some of the papers she had received from the law firm, stuffed them into a manila envelope, and set out for the Realtor’s office in town.
Town & Country Real Estate was located in the front rooms of one of the storybook-like Victorian houses on the green. Lauren noticed the gingerbread trim on the wide porch as she went up the steps to the front door. It made her feel almost as though she had stepped back into another era. Putting these thoughts aside, she walked into the office and approached the receptionist. “I’d like to talk to Joan.”
Immediately, there was a rustling in the back of the room behind a cubicle divider, followed by the scraping of a chair on the hardwood floor.
“I’m Joan,” said a woman who came out from behind the partition with a perky smile. “Joan Halloran. What can I do for you?” The agent was small, with large, popping eyes behind even larger glasses. She was middle-aged with short cropped graying hair and an annoyingly energetic manner. She took Lauren’s hand and nearly wrung it off in a hearty handshake.
“I inherited my grandmother’s house up on Highland Road,” explained Lauren as she gingerly withdrew her hand. “I’d like to list it for sale.”
“Really?” Joan the Realtor took her by the arm, luring her back to the cubicle. She pushed Lauren backward toward a small office chair and took her own seat behind her desk. “Have a seat here, dear, and tell me about it. Which house on Highland is it? I’ve lived here all my life. I’ll know the house.”
“My grandmother was Katherine Hamilton,” Lauren explained, and before she could utter another word, Joan clapped her hands together.
“You’re Katherine’s granddaughter! Mary’s daughter! The little girl who used to be there in the summers! I remember you! Yes, I do. Oh, everyone loved your grandmother. That place is a gem, although it could use some work. How did you hear about me?”
“I had to call a plumber when I got there,” Lauren answered flatly. “Bob Cochran told me to see you about listing the house.”
“Ah, Bob!” she said fondly. “Such a good person. I’ll have to remember to thank him for the referral.”
Lauren felt the need to return to the reason she had come to the real estate office. “How do I go about listing my house?” she asked, not wanting to encourage the woman by seeming too friendly.
“Well, let’s fill out this form. This gives me permission to advertise. Then we have to do a checklist attesting to no lead paint, leaks, radon. Stuff like that. I’ll do a walk-through and let you know where it needs help.”
Lauren cut her off. “I don’t want to do anything to it. Just sell it as fast as you can. Sell it as is.”
Joan made a funny face. Lauren wasn’t sure how to interpret it. “Well, we want to get the best price for it, don’t we?”
“I really don’t care what I get for it,” said Lauren adamantly. “I just want it off my hands.”
Joan pursed her lips as if trying to find another direction to come from, but her enthusiasm would not be repressed. “Well, we’ll get a good price anyway. I know the house. I didn’t get to be Realtor of the Year because I don’t sell houses! Now let’s get down to business.” Lauren placed the manila folder of legal papers she had brought in front of Joan, who, in turn shoved a pile of forms across her desk to Lauren. Lauren began to methodically pore over them, signing here and there, checking this box and that.
Joan went over each document in Lauren’s folder. Finally, she seemed satisfied. “I’ll have to run all this past my boss. He should be back later this afternoon. And I have to go to the Town Office and dig up the tax maps. Oh, and I’ll get one of the lawyers I work with to go over this too. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll tend to the details. You’ll have to sign some more forms and releases tomorrow after my boss approves everything, but you’ll be in town for a bit, yet, won’t you?” Without waiting for Lauren to answer, she stood up, and slapping her thighs with her hands, said, “Let me take you to lunch! We’ll celebrate the upcoming sale of the house.”
“Oh, no,” said Lauren, smiling politely. “Thank you anyway.”
“Now I won’t take no for an answer. I didn’t get New England Realtor of the Year by taking no for an answer!”
I bet you didn’t, thought Lauren, and then, suddenly, she acquiesced. She might as well go for lunch. There wasn’t anything to do until “the boss” got back. “Okay, you talked me into it,” she said, trying to sound pleasant. “I’ll go.”
“Wonderful! Come with me. We’ll walk down the street to the pub. It’s really very nice. A decent bar and grill with a pool table. It’s the local watering hole for everybody after work, but they serve the best lunch in town, too.”
Lauren followed the Realtor of the Year, as she privately thought of her, out the office door and into the hot sunny July day. She looked around her. The town was actually very pretty in a bucolic way. She was remembering certain things about it, like the old Victorian houses clustered around a town common. All the buildings seemed to have window boxes full of scarlet geraniums. It was very picturesque.
Joan Halloran led the way up the front steps of one of the Victorian houses. “This is the pub,” she said, indicating the big sign over the porch. “The proprietors live upstairs. It’s the way a lot of us do things here. The pharmacist lives above the drug store. The owners of the bookstore live on the second floor of that building. It saves commuting in the winter and helps pay the heating bills!” Joan laughed at her own wit.
Inside was a surprisingly attractive room. Small tables were arranged comfortably about, making the best use of the space. Against the inside wall was a fireplace and opposite was a great bow window with two tables in front of it. In another life, thought Lauren, with her eye for old things, this would have been part of one of the reception rooms. On another wall was a bar that was a deep red chestnut color, so highly polished that it positively glowed. There was a huge gold-framed mirror behind it, flanked on either side by shelves upon which sat bottles of gin, scotch, whiskey, and vodka with colorful labels. A girl dressed in a logoed “McTavish’s Pub” T-shirt was pulling one of the several beer taps at the far end of the bar. The place exuded a friendly, sociable atmosphere.
Lauren’s eyes adjusted to the light, and it was then that she saw him. His back was to her. He was sitting at the bar with two other men, and although she had only seen him once, Lauren knew the way Caleb Cochran’s shoulders knit together into the strong muscles of his back. She recognized instinctively the powerful arms and the way his muscles lengthened down from his rugged torso to his slim waist and hips. She felt her mouth go dry. Automatically she followed Joan, trying to concentrate on what the Realtor was saying.
Joan was babbling. “Come this way, dear. We’ll sit in the bow window and look out on the street.” They took their seats on either side of a small bistro style table. Lauren forced herself to look out onto the pretty little green with its white gazebo and plantings of vermillion geraniums, but her eyes kept wandering back to the bar, coming to rest on that particular place between Caleb shoulder blades. She assumed he was there eating lunch.
Suddenly, Lauren didn’t feel hungry. Instead, she felt like running. Running away from the blithering real estate agent. Running away from the quiet and slow moving little town. And above all, running away from this stranger who had such an effect on her that she had erotic dreams about him.
“What can I getcha?” The girl who had been pulling the draft beer was now standing beside the table, holding a pad and pencil. Lauren looked up, surprised. She hadn’t realized that a menu had been set before her.
“Oh, um,” she stammered, “do you have BLTs?”
“Of course,” said the waitress, somewhat impatiently.
“Then I’ll have one of those.”
“Anything to drink?”
Lauren wished it was five o’clock so she could have a gin and tonic, but it was noon. “Iced tea,” she said. “With lemon.” She was wondering if his father had told Caleb about their conversation. She wished she had just kept quiet! She was not good at keeping her mouth shut sometimes.
Joan the Realtor said, “I’ll have my usual tuna on rye, Vanessa. With a black coffee.” The waitress turned abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen. Lauren stole another look at the bar. Caleb’s back was still to her. His elbows were on the bar, and she could hear him laugh as he carried on a conversation with the men to his right and left.
Suddenly, he caught her eye in the mirror. Busted! Lauren could feel embarrassment flooding over her like a smothering blanket. Damn! He had caught her staring at him.
Caleb flashed her a smile. Then, before she could react, he slipped off his stool and walked over to the table.
“Hi,” he said.
“Oh, hi, Caleb,” bubbled Joan Halloran. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine, and yourself?”
“Oh, busy, busy. You know summer is our busiest time and we — ”
Caleb cut her off smoothly, turning to Lauren. “How’s the hot water situation?”
She felt electrified by his presence, standing over her in such close proximity. She could feel the physical power of him. She could have reached out and touched him. Right there, at his waist, about his belt. She felt her fingers twitch, and she consciously composed herself.
“Oh, fine now, thank you.”
“I might stop up later this afternoon and check on it.”
Why did her stomach leap so at his words? “Oh,” she said. “That’s fine. I should be there.”
“Well, then, I’ll see you later.” He smiled and turned toward his two cohorts who were waiting by the door. With a wave at the waitress, he exited the restaurant.
“Caleb’s a good boy,” said Joan, sitting back as the waitress returned with their order. “Comes from a good old family from right here in town. He was good friends with my son when they were growing up.” She took a bite of her sandwich and shook her head slowly. “Poor guy.”
Small Town Girl Page 4
