“Accidents happen. Is there a hotel or motel nearby?” Danny refused to get into a discussion of how the mentally challenged should be kept on a short leash. He understood their limitations better than most, and knew that community involvement was in everybody’s best interests.
“In Wellsville.” The grocer jutted his chin south. “And there’s the B and B up the road. Nice place.”
Danny had noted the classic colonial bed-and-breakfast on the way in, but he was looking for something more long-term. He shook his head. “Wellsville, huh?”
John Dennehy nodded. “Closest thing, ’cept for the campgrounds on the other side of Baldwin’s Crossing.”
He’d seen the campground sign as well, but that wouldn’t do, either. He shrugged. “Wellsville it is. I’m surprised with how pretty your village is that no one’s built anything closer to service the seasonal tourists.” Wellsville was a good fifteen minutes south of Jamison.
“Oh, they’ve tried, especially with the interstate so close,” John admitted, his lips thinned. “There’s development, then there’s development, if you know what I mean. These days it’s best knowing just what kind of life you’re after before sayin’ yes to every character that barrels through, wantin’ to build somethin’.”
The store owner’s manner insinuated that Jamison might be an unlikely spot to approve his storefront development, but he wasn’t in town looking for a fight. He was here to make his grandmother’s dream come true, to open a store dedicated to her mother, his great-grandmother, the original Grandma Mary.
He gave John a direct and polite smile, determined to take his time, learn the lay of the land and not step on toes.
As John began wheeling the cart of damaged fruit inside, Danny held up a hand to stop him. “I’d like to buy this fruit.”
The grocer scowled, thinking he was kidding.
Danny jerked his head toward the emblems on the mercantile door that said despite its historic appearance, the store accepted plastic in multiple forms. “And can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”
John sized him up, shrugged and pressed his lips into a line. “You don’t have to buy the fruit. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He can’t help that he’s—”
Danny cut off the possible insult smoothly. “Challenged. Exactly. But I know a place that can use this fruit. Of course a discount would be in order.”
John’s gaze turned hopeful. He shrugged and nodded. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be grateful. And the coffee shop at the end of the row has an ATM. The banks in Wellsville have them as well. Or you can select Cash Back when you pay for the fruit.”
Danny nodded, replanning the flow of his day to include a stop at the Colonial Candy Kitchen to make good on his promise.
The young woman had eyed him with suspicion when he’d raised Ben’s hopes. How much lower would her opinion go when she realized he was heir apparent to Grandma Mary’s Candies, one of the largest chocolate confectioners in the Northeast, and that his job would most likely include putting her out of business?
He bit back a sigh, put his game face on and helped John bag the fruit, contemplating this new wrinkle. Big cities like New York, Philly and Boston welcomed expansion and development. But here, in this sweet, historic village…
The phrase she used drew an inner smile as he remembered the tilt of her head, the arch of her brow.
Here he might be seeing his competition face-to-face every day, and he didn’t like that. Not one little bit.
“Megan?”
Hannah Moore jogged toward Megan and Ben, her modern running gear a stark contrast to Megan’s colonial costume. She glanced at her sports watch, paused for breath, then nodded toward the candy shop door. “Running late?”
“Grrr…”
Hannah’s sympathy turned into an understanding smile. “Well, the library doesn’t open until three. Want some help?”
“Seriously? Yes.”
The smile deepened to a grin. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head back. I wondered why I didn’t see your car here on my first pass through.”
Hannah regularly ran the paths winding up and down the rolling countryside. Since Megan couldn’t imagine running down the block, much less up a smallish mountain, she held Hannah in high esteem.
“The car’s in the shop for a few days. And Ben’s got today off, so…”
Hannah flashed a smile of understanding and welcome Ben’s way. “So you get to hang out here today, huh, big guy?”
Ben beamed. “With Meggie.”
“And me.” Hannah sent Megan a look that said more than words, and headed south. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Thanks, Hannah.”
Megan watched her retreating back as Hannah wound her way beneath the trees, heading for home. For a fleeting moment she wondered what it would be like to have Hannah’s athleticism and freedom, the chance to just go off and do whatever you wanted a good share of the time.
But she refused to dwell on their differences. Hadn’t Reverend Hannity just offered a delightful homily equating God’s timing with gardens, using metaphors like “the flowers of tomorrow are held in the seeds of yesterday” and “take the time to cultivate the garden within”?
Meg swallowed a sigh.
Right now her internal and external gardens were weed-riddled, and while she appreciated the good reverend’s warmth and wit, she’d give anything to feel like she was in charge of her life, at least part of the time. But between work constraints, helping with Ben and dealing with the aftermath of her public humiliation, she pretty much felt like a puppet on a string.
“Thanks for bringing me to work with you, Meggie.”
Ben’s sincerity offered the kick she needed. She had much to be grateful for, starting with a business she’d built and loved, a sweet apartment upstairs that allowed independence and proximity to her store, a beautiful hometown just beginning to plow its way out of an economic backslide, and family and friends that loved her.
She refused to acknowledge what so many knew, that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by boyfriends twice in the past several years. She climbed the wide, wooden front steps of the candy store and grinned at Ben. “Glad to have you on board.”
His smile tipped her world back on its axis, the sweet, impish grin a quality that couldn’t be bottled. Ben might have the inquisitive nature of an errant child, but he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and there were plenty of people who could take a lesson from that.
“Hannah, that looks great.” Meg indicated the neon-colored lollipops and nodded approval, the eye-catching array complementing the season. “Picture-perfect. Total attention grabber.”
“Nothing to compare with what approacheth from yonder stone parking lot. Take heed!” Hannah pseudowhispered as she crossed into the production kitchen, her eyes teasing. “A man of certain breeding and gentility comes hither. Might we ready some tea for him, perchance?”
Megan shot her a withering look, glanced through the front window and decided the hop, skip and jump in her chest was a leftover sugar high from not sticking to diet soda. She dusted her hands on her apron, tucked the look of surprise away, headed for the counter and faced the door as their early visitor reappeared. He met her gaze and grinned.
Knowing how his easy demeanor had affected her defenses earlier, she should have sent Hannah to the counter. But she didn’t, which meant she was either healing or a glutton for punishment.
Hannah moved forward, glancing at her watch. “Miss Russo, might I by your leave long enough to deliver today’s cookies to the mercantile and café just shy of the village green?”
Megan rolled her eyes, met Hannah’s gaze and nodded at the obvious ploy. “As always, I am grateful for your help, Miss Moore.”
“As am I for the gainful employment, Miss Russo.”
The man swept them an appreciative look. “Obviously whatever’s in the water down here is contagious. If I stay for a few weeks, will I begin to talk like that, too?”
Megan regar
ded him with care, a hint of amusement lifting her voice, much as it had an hour earlier. “If one were to linger and reside amongst the genteel of yesteryear, one would surely find their faith, warmth and culture most contagious, kind sir. Do you plan to take lodgings in this vicinity?”
“If that’s your cagey way of asking if I plan to be in town awhile, the answer is yes. I have business here.”
Hannah pushed through the front door with a wave. “I shall leave you to your verbal sparring while I deliver these forthwith.”
Megan watched Hannah go with mixed feelings. Volleying words with this guy was easy with others around. Somehow it felt less natural on her own. She busied herself righting a rack of flavored candy sticks that didn’t need straightening, their old-world appeal and low cost an invitation to purchase in bulk.
The man reached into his pocket and withdrew cold, hard cash, a welcome sight in a retail establishment. He eyed the credit card machine on the counter with a look of disbelief, then turned to her. “You said you couldn’t take credit cards.”
“And such as this is true, kind sir, two blocks from my place of business, in the middle of the street at break of day.”
He frowned and moved closer to the counter, giving Megan a clear view of those gray eyes, light in the middle, their color deepening as the iris widened. His straight, dark hair stopped a hint longer than military length, and the square set of his jaw marked him as a man of decision. But in Megan’s recent experience, men of decision quickly pivoted into indecision where matters of forever were concerned, so she wasn’t about to believe anyone’s chin, no matter how delightfully rugged it appeared.
He angled his head while waiting for her to conclude her perusal, as if accustomed to women sizing him up.
Totally understandable, considering his appearance.
She bit down a sigh, put a serene face in place and inclined her head. “But as you bear witness, kind sir, I have a machine of that nature here.”
“Oh, I see all right.” He let his gaze rest upon her for long seconds, his look inviting challenge. “I think I’m reading you loud and clear, Miss…?”
“Megan.” She gave a slight curtsy, very much in character. “Megan Russo, in actuality, the proprietor of this establishment and sister to Benjamin, the fine young man who made your acquaintance this morning.”
His smile deepened. Broadened. He held out a hand. “And I’m Daniel Graham, but my friends call me Danny.”
“Whereas I am scarce an acquaintance of yours, I shall be delighted to call you Mr. Graham.” She sent him a quick, smiling look over her shoulder as she moved along the counter, hoping he’d follow.
He did.
She bit back a grin, wishing this weren’t fun, wishing he weren’t absolutely adorable, wishing she hadn’t been burned twice already and fairly certain that public humiliation was her permanent Facebook status, since that seemed to be how her life rolled these days. Focus, Meg. Ignore the cleft in his chin, the crinkled eyes and that light of awareness. Remember, you don’t know him, and probably wouldn’t like him if you did.
She paused once she had the counter between them and offered him an expectant look. “How might I be of help to you this day, good man?”
It had to be wrong to think anyone was this cute, this over-the-top, heart-stoppingly magnetic. Right?
Danny tried to prevent his reaction, to no avail. She captivated him, plain and simple. The look, the quirky nature, the spunk, the knowing smile. He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this in, well…
Ever.
He’d had a variety of relationships over the years, and knew way too many Saks Fifth Avenue-friendly types from his years in Philly and New York, coupled with his regular excursions to Grandma Mary’s sprawling Northeast venues.
Nothing prepared him for the total impact of this quaintly clad young woman whose eyes held challenge and maybe, just maybe, a hint of cynicism, enough to make him wonder why and how it got there in a locale saturated with small-town goodness.
He tamped the feelings down, realizing he was simply experiencing a normal, healthy reaction to a new situation because no one in big cities wore quaint, full-skirted gowns made of the sweet calicos his grandmother employed in her quilt making. And the quiet swish of the dress as Megan moved…
Just made him wish she’d move more.
He frowned inward and outward, chasing his errant thoughts away. “I’ve come to buy the candy bars I wanted to purchase earlier.”
She nodded, slid open the door of an immaculate glass display case and withdrew a wicker basket of wrapped bars. She set the basket on the counter. Danny glanced around, noting the layout, and turned back, nodding. “You’ve picked a good location for the chocolate with summer here. This side of your display is shadowed enough to keep the temperature from fluctuating.”
One sculpted brow arched in quiet accord. “Chocolate is a delicacy, indeed. If one does not take care to manage it with an eye toward temperature control, one can ruin a batch forthwith. And exposure to the sun will gray it, drawing the composition oils to the surface. Most unappealing.”
He smiled as he withdrew eight bars. “I don’t find a thing in this store unappealing, Miss Russo.”
She dipped him another curtsy of acknowledgment, having no idea what her antics were doing to his heart. Or maybe she did. He withdrew another four bars just because he needed to do something that didn’t include staring at her.
“Danny!”
He turned, saved by the excited lilt of Ben’s voice. Ben charged forth, open and friendly, not a hint of reticence about him. Danny grinned, acknowledging the warmth, the innocence, the inborn effusive nature. He held out a hand. “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Ben turned a scolding look to his sister. “See, Meggie? I told you not to be so grumpy. I told you he’d come back. Didn’t I? Huh?”
She didn’t miss a beat, just turned her head, gave the young man a quick, friendly nod and smiled. “You did, Ben. I knew I should have heeded your advice.”
“Yes.” Ben nodded, his expression firm. “I know a lot of things, and people should listen to me more.”
Megan acknowledged that with a calm look of assent. “I would be well-advised to do so. And Ben, I see other customers approaching. Would you be so kind as to take Mr. Graham’s money for his purchases?”
“I get to handle money? Yes, I’d be very glad to do it, Meggie!”
She bestowed a gentle smile of understanding on her brother, sent Danny a “gotcha” look that he didn’t think existed in colonial times and moved off to take care of the new customer, the quiet whisper of her dress marking her exit.
“H-how many candy bars do you want, D-Danny?”
He laid the bars on the counter. “All of these.”
Ben shot him a look of pure, unmitigated excitement, an expression that made Danny miss Uncle Jerry even more. So sweet. How he wished he’d taken more time to spend with Jerry those last years. How foolish he’d been to assume anything lasted forever.
“Twelve!”
He nodded and handed over two twenties, determined to pay in cash despite the handy machine atop the uncluttered glass counter.
He’d noticed right off that everything in the shop glowed with cleanliness. She’d gone with a white kitchen setting that embraced the store’s name, the wainscoted walls, window trim, cupboards and drawers all done in a white satin finish, the old knobs a throwback to earlier times. A few small white tables graced the end of the room while the candy faced the shaded northeast side, where aged, sprawling maple trees offered a cooling, shadowed presence. The west side of the store held an ice cream parlor setup, not too big, just enough to help augment summer sales.
Smart.
Danny liked and appreciated retail intelligence. Covering the bottom line was intrinsic to business, and in her own way, Megan Russo was doing just that, filling needs to fit the season and her cash flow. And looking really good, to boot.
She picked that m
oment to glance their way, her look noting Ben making change, and then Danny.
Her calm gaze did a little stutter-step, just enough to make him think she felt the connection. Her quick reversion to a more reserved countenance said she had every intention of fighting it, just like him.
He almost breathed a sigh of relief, then laughed at himself. He was only here a short while, just long enough to set up a site that proclaimed Grandma Mary’s cared about its roots, and while he wasn’t a history buff by any means, he was smart enough to recognize how far his family had come in four generations.
Amazing.
Megan flashed another look Ben’s way, and Danny’s inner hopes dimmed as realization set in.
He might put her out of business. Correction: would most likely put her out of business.
And that meant Ben would be out of a job, a chance to mingle with people, to feel good about himself. Danny knew how important those qualities were to the developmentally challenged.
He smiled his thanks to Ben and hoisted the bag of chocolate. “Thank you so much, young man.”
Ben grinned appreciation. “You’re welcome.”
Danny turned and headed for the door, wishing she’d call out. Wish him good day. Say goodbye. Invite him to come again.
She didn’t.
And he refused to turn, looking for her attention, knowing it was best to avoid her as much as possible considering the circumstances. The idea of causing her problems weighed on him, but his allegiance to his family business and family roots went deep. He’d scour the area for likely settings and try to place their new store far enough away from the Colonial Candy Kitchen to minimize the effect—but in the end, business was business.
Right now, he wasn’t all that certain he liked that idea.
Chapter Three
“Spill it, girlfriend. Who was the hunk you were shamelessly flirting with while I delivered cookies to the mercantile and the coffee shop?” Hannah tossed out the question once the store was empty at midday. “Some businessman.”
“And then some.” Hannah’s arched brows and grin showed proper appreciation. “What kind of business?”
Small-Town Hearts Page 2
