Snow melted in Elizabeth’s hair as the two women walked away from the store. “Well, in that case, I’ll bring my favorite thing. Pork rinds and cheese dip with snack crackers.”
“Great,” Emma grinned. “Come around eleven. We’ll watch the Macy’s parade, then eat and watch the football game.”
The shop owner’s features sobered. “Emma, what are you going to do about the house?”
She’d told Elizabeth about the most recent hitch in plans that morning. “Find that deed or bill of sale or letter, something that proves we actually owned the house all these years. Lully has to have it—she never threw away anything.”
“Good luck,” Elizabeth said, giving Emma a hug. “If I can help, just ask.”
Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and crisp with still a hint of snow blowing about. Elizabeth arrived at eleven with her pork rinds and cheese dip.
“Wow, I’ve never been in this house before,” she said, handing her coat to Emma. “It’s quite … something.”
Emma laughed. “You’re the soul of discretion. It’s a pit. Nothing has been done to it in years.”
“But, like you said, it has potential.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do,” Elizabeth eyes roamed the rooms as she followed Emma into the kitchen. “This woodwork is wonderful. Cleaned and oiled it could be spectacular.”
“I don’t know. I tell myself something could be made of it but then, I don’t know. I have such mixed feelings about it.” She shrugged. “But then, I may have no choices.”
“It will work out,” Elizabeth said. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”
“I guess. I suppose I could have a yard sale next spring.”
“Are you staying that long?”
“No,” Emma admitted. “Probably not.”
They watched the parade in silent companionship. Emma hadn’t wanted to be alone this holiday, so spending it with Elizabeth was especially enjoyable. Their Thanksgiving meal was a great success, and the Broncos won the football game, so all in all it was a fun day. When Emma told Elizabeth good-bye she realized she hadn’t thought about Sam or about the sale of the house all day, which was a good thing.
A very good thing.
December arrived with a fresh snow. Emma stood at the kitchen window, drinking a cup of coffee and wondering how it had come about that she was still in Serenity nearly two months later, when she’d planned to stay only a week, at most. The days drifted by with little in the way of restoration toward the house. Emma worked at the bookstore, slept, dug through boxes of papers so old they crackled and broke apart in her hands, and kept in touch with Sue and Janice by phone.
Snow was falling in earnest now. Fat, puffy flakes that covered Ezra Mott’s grave, frosting his gravestone. The graveyard actually looked pretty with snow blanketing it, the tombstones poking up like different-colored chess pieces.
Not many visited the graves. Most of the families were long gone now. Ninety-eight-year-old Zelda Moyer still brought plastic flowers to her husband’s grave on Memorial Day and on William’s birthday, she supposed. Zelda was out there in the cold this morning, shivering. Emma wanted to dash out with a blanket or something. But she didn’t. This was Zelda’s time with her husband.
If she and Sam had married and something happened to him after they’d been married sixty years, would she do the same? Yes, she would.
But then, she’d also thought they’d be married, and she’d been wrong about that.
She sipped her coffee, remembering what her therapist had said. Fear of abandonment. That’s why she’d never made any kind of commitment to a man. It sounded trite, but it was nonetheless true. With every man she’d dated seriously, and there had been a couple, she’d talked herself out of commitment. She’d listed pros and cons, she’d tried to step out in blind faith, but in the end, fear that the man would one day walk away made her break the relationship.
Irrational. Perhaps. But there it was. Every person she’d ever trusted, ever believed in, had turned away from her. How did anyone make that gamble? What were the odds of a man and woman living together for five years or ten, let alone sixty? The odds had to be astronomical. She was not a gambler.
The big grandfather clock chimed the quarter hour and she glanced at her watch. She had to hurry or she’d be late for work.
Elizabeth and Emma spent the morning packing, inventorying and shelving a book shipment. At lunch they ate sandwiches Elizabeth had brought. These days Emma found herself coming in every day to piddle and refused to accept money for her extra time. “Work is the only thing that keeps me sane,” she argued.
“The roof didn’t leak,” Emma noted. “Well, not much.”
“Lucky,” Elizabeth returned, munching a chip.
Emma laughed. She liked Elizabeth and liked working in the store, even liked being in Serenity, and she’d never thought she’d say that. In midafternoon she took a break from the bookstore and ran next door to Brisco’s for a cup of hot tea. Elizabeth had used the last tea bag earlier, and Emma planned to pick up a sampler package of flavored teas at Willis’s Grocery that evening on the way home.
Ned and Sam were sitting at the counter eating burgers when Emma stepped into the café. Sam glanced up and smiled, but she went straight to the register. She hadn’t talked to him in the past few days. She thought he might have stopped by to wish her a nice Thanksgiving, and then reminded herself she was an idiot. Why did the fact that Sam Gold spent Thanksgiving with his family upset her? Nothing Sam Gold did was of any concern to her.
“What can I get you, Emma?” Penny asked, turning from the kitchen pass-through.
“Two hot teas with lemon, please.”
“Afternoon, Emma,” Sam called loud enough for everyone in the cafe to turn and stare. “You’re looking awfully pretty today.” He had turned on the stool and sat with his back against the counter, grinning at her.
Her face flamed, and at that moment she could have strangled the sheriff.
Penny winked at her. “You ought to get his goat,” she whispered.
Emma handed Penny the proper change. “I wouldn’t know how.” She could hear his deep, masculine chuckle. He knew he was embarrassing her.
“I do.” Penny leaned forward, whispering in Emma’s ear. “I-I couldn’t,” Emma murmured, her face flushing an even deeper red.
“Why not? He’d do it to you.” Penny slapped a plastic lid on each cup. “Chicken.”
Emma heard Sam and Ned talking in the background. Yes, he would do it without blinking an eye. She gave Penny a look and nodded slightly.
The waitress grinned and gave Emma a thumbs-up with a sly grin. “Go on. It’ll be fun and give him a dose of his own medicine.” She set the tea in a cardboard carryout tray.
“Thanks, Penny.”
“No problem, Emma. Enjoy your tea.”
Emma picked up the tray and walked past the register. When she reached the end of the counter she handed the tray to Ned, who stopped in midsentence and looked up in surprise.
“Hold that a sec,” Emma said.
Then she clasped Sam’s face between her hands and kissed him, long and hard. What started as a game found Emma enjoying this man’s soft but firm mouth, enjoying it much longer than she’d initially planned.
Finally ending the kiss, she met his stunned gaze. Touching the end of his nose playfully with the tip of her finger she said softly, “You look rather nice yourself, Sheriff.”
She collected the tray of tea from the openmouthed Ned. Striding toward the cafe door, she called back, “Now, you have a great day, fellows. Don’t take any wooden nickels.”
The cafe broke into applause and whistles. Face flaming, Emma left, closing the door firmly behind her. As soon as she was out of sight, she released a long breath of relief. Penny was right. That had been fun. In fact, it was really fun, and she giggled all the way back to the bookstore when she remembered the stunned look on Sam’s face.
Then she sobered. It h
ad been fun, but it had also stirred bittersweet memories. Though he’d been shocked, Sam had automatically returned the kiss. And that was one kiss she’d never forget. Oh, Emma … you can’t let yourself fall in love with Sam again. She couldn’t shake the sobering thought before it made her uncomfortable.
Elizabeth glanced up as Emma entered the bookstore with the tea. She frowned slightly. “Something happen?”
Emma laughed. “Just a good joke,” she said. “The phone will ring in a few minutes and I’ll answer it.”
“Then you’ll tell me the joke?”
“Guaranteed.”
Emma had barely time to squeeze lemon into her tea when the phone rang.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “You promised,” she said as Emma picked up the receiver.
“Elizabeth’s Corner.”
“Emma!”
“Yes, Sam?” Emma twined the telephone cord around her little finger. She checked her watch. Four and a half minutes.
“What was that all about?”
“The kiss?” She grinned at Elizabeth’s expression. “Why, I was just returning your compliment. You said I looked good, and I said you looked good.”
“Right. Penny put you up to that, didn’t she?”
“Penny who?” She heard a sound of irritation on the other end.
“Even if she did,” he began and she held her breath, “I liked it.”
She made herself breathe. “Me, too,” she admitted, and then thought perhaps she shouldn’t have.
“Maybe we should try it again, in a different place.”
She laughed softly. “In your dreams Sheriff.” And in hers. What was she doing? This wasn’t what she’d planned. “Hey.” She changed subjects. “Ned thinks we should paint the cabinets when we paint the inside of the house.”
“You still want to get into that?”
“Yeah,” she wrapped the phone cord around her finger again. “I do. I know I’ll find that bill of sale. It may take me forever, but I’ll find it.”
“You better find it before the estate goes to probate.”
“I will. But it’s like dipping a teaspoon into the Atlantic Ocean the way things are piled and stacked in that house. I work some every day, but the mess only seems to be getting larger.”
Sam’s chuckle set off a tiny quiver in her stomach. She loved the sound of it.
“Any particular color schemes go with spiders? Coordinating shades, all one color, variegated?” Emma asked.
“Those spiders are long gone. Have you been down there to check lately?”
“Are you kidding? That’s your part of the house.” She grinned.
“You’re a spider coward. Okay, it’s too late in the year to paint outside, but we can paint inside. Maybe do a little wallpapering.”
Hesitation came over the line. “Do you wallpaper?” she asked.
“I have. Once. Border.”
“Great.”
“Do you?”
“Wallpaper?”
“That’s what we were discussing.”
“No,” she said.
“What can you do, Emma?”
“Plant green things. You wouldn’t believe what I could do. I could turn the house into a centerpiece for a botanical garden.” Emma’s vision flourished.
Sam’s tone sobered. “You know that old house has a personality of its own. I’m not sure it’s wise to change it.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” The house had character, something new tract homes didn’t have. She supposed it was like growing old. Few thought much about the elderly. But for Emma, new didn’t always mean better. She loved the cubbyholes and the drafty window seat with its faded cushions in her old bedroom. The admission took her by surprise.
Sam hesitated, then, “Do you have plans for Saturday?”
“No. Why?”
“I’ll pick you up and we’ll drive to Durango for paint. We need to get started.” Again, hesitation. “Ned thinks he has an older couple interested in at least looking at the house.”
“Are you giving in? You said we couldn’t paint. The ceilings are fourteen feet high. Scaffolding, you said.”
“We’ll buy a big ladder. We can start on the parlor.”
And we’ll need a big insurance policy, she told herself as she hung up the phone. She suddenly jumped up and down, shaking her hands wildly. He had given in to her—Sam had actually given in to her!
Yet she felt rather foolish, painting a house when she didn’t have proof it was even hers.
Or spending money on a house, that most likely would end up in rubble.
Sam hung up the phone slowly. Now what had he gotten himself into? Doing anything with the Mansi house was not on his agenda for any day. Did he think that painting a couple of the rooms would make a difference? Make Emma decide to stay in Serenity? If so, then he was a bigger fool than he thought.
He grinned. Hot dog. He had a date with Emma—an honest-to-goodness date, no professionalism involved. Just a can of paint, a paintbrush, a ladder, and a long Saturday afternoon. The house didn’t matter, even if she could find the deed or bill of sale. He wanted her to stay in Serenity—and so what if he’d given in to her? He hadn’t exactly—he’d just agreed to be more agreeable.
Man, he felt good!
“Yep, this place needs some work all right.”
Jay Bennett had been the only person to respond to Emma’s ad for someone to do general repairs around the house, which made her wonder if he wasn’t busy because he wasn’t good at his work or if he was just braver than most. She hoped it was the latter.
“What do you think?” Emma asked. “Can you do the work?” She wanted to sneeze. She’d been going through boxes in a closet when the handyman arrived, and she felt like she’d been breathing dust for hours.
“I can do it,” Jay said, rubbing his whiskered chin with one calloused hand. “But it’ll cost.”
Naturally, but he was available. Maybe he hadn’t heard all the stories about the Mansi house, or at least chose to ignore them. She had some concerns about the stories being true, considering the strange sounds she’d heard since being in the house again. She hadn’t remembered the old house’s creaks and groans; she’d forgotten how the wind whistled around the corners and under the eaves at night.
“Can you give me an estimate?”
“Check the plumbing, electrical—you know that fuse box is ancient and needs to be replaced?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I’ll put that in the estimate.”
“Yes, do that,” Emma murmured, almost seeing the dollar signs stacking up. She refused to consider that all this work might be for nothing.
“And that porch needs the step replaced, the others tightened up. Two boards in the porch. Nearly cracked my shin when I was checkin’ that railin’.”
“Okay.” More dollar signs.
“Have to hand turn those little spindles,” he said, pointing to the fan-shaped decorations that graced the corners of open doorways on the first floor. “And there’s a couple on the front of the house that need replacin’.”
His brown-eyed gaze darted into every corner as he walked through the living room, dining room, guest parlor, and into the kitchen. “Don’t suppose you want to update those cabinets. Some glass doors would make a world of difference.”
“I’ll make a note of that, but I don’t think it’s the main objective right now. We’ll paint them instead.”
“Okay. Spindles, electrical, check the plumbing, replace that corner piece of molding in the living room, replace the splashboard and this faucet here in the kitchen.” He tapped the faucet that kept leaking and left water standing on the counter. She’d taken to wrapping a tea towel around it and wringing it out three or four times a day.
“Please list each item separately so I’ll know what I can have done immediately.”
“Sure thing. I’ll have an estimate for you—” he rubbed his chin again—“day after tomorrow?”
“That will be fine. D
rop it off at the bookstore, please. I’m there afternoons.”
Jay tugged at the bill of his baseball cap. “You got it.”
Emma walked the handyman to the door. “Thanks for coming.”
“You betcha.” He tugged the door open. “I’ll add shaving the edge on this door to the list.” Jay drove off in his battered pickup with the ladders on racks rattling as the vehicle disappeared down the lane.
“Just a few repairs,” she murmured, kicking the door when it stuck again.
Sam stopped by the bookstore shortly after noon two days later. “Have you talked to Ned?” he asked. Emma laid down the lamb’s-wool duster she’d been using on the bookshelves. “Ned never talks to me. He must think I only speak Spanish.”
Sam pursed his lips. “Could be he’s afraid you’ll drag him down the street by the collar again.” He grinned.
“Jay Bennett was here about the repairs. I’m afraid it’s going to cost a fortune.”
“We take one step at a time. I’ll stop by a couple nights next week and help you go through some of the boxes in the basement. The bill of sale could be down there.”
“Whatever.”
He smiled.
“Okay,” she repeated. “So I don’t refuse help when it’s offered. Shoot me.”
“I’d rather kiss you.” The statement hung in the air between them until Jay Bennett entered the bookstore. “Got that estimate for you, Miss Mansi.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bennett. May I look it over and call you?” Emma found it hard to concentrate on anything but Sam’s offer.
“No hurry.” He pulled at the bill of his ball cap. “Sam.”
“Jay. Good to see you. That cabinet you built for the office is working out great.”
“Glad to hear it.” He glanced at Emma. “I’ll be on my way.”
Lori Copeland Page 15
