Beginnings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  A “harrumph” actually came from the worktable. “All the porch lights will be on by then,” Andrew said. He swung a pair of goggles in his hand, a silent message that he had work to do.

  Beth drew a deep breath, her eyes spitting fire. But when she looked back at Sean, a smile washed away the fury. “It’ll be the white bungalow with the wraparound front porch, spirea bushes under the front window, and a porch light on. Does that help?”

  Sean chose to ignore Andrew’s second, softer snort. “I’m sure I can find you. Sommerfeld isn’t that large.”

  “True enough.”

  They shared an amused grin, and Sean found himself tempted to lean forward and place a kiss on her softly curving lips. The sound of the cutting wheel split the air. Beth gave a start, and Sean jerked backward, bumping his heels on the platform. He caught his balance, swung a wide-eyed look toward Andrew, then took a stumbling step toward the door.

  “Six thirty,” he hollered over the sound of the cutter. His jacket draped over his arm, he headed out the door.

  ***

  Beth paced the living room floor, the heels of her black dress boots clumping against the carpet. Despite her efforts to set aside the aggravation, she still stewed about Andrew’s rudeness hours ago. She wondered if Sean would show up after his abrupt departure from the studio. Recalling how he practically ran for the door without bothering to put on his jacket made her blood boil. She and Andrew really needed to have a talk.

  Mom had always told her to think before she spoke, especially when she was upset or angry. That advice had kept her silent over the past week. Whenever the urge to confront Andrew arose, it came with a wave of frustration or anger, and she didn’t want to dishonor God by being unkind. So she’d wait, and then she’d forget. Until the next time he irritated her. She felt caught in a merry-go-round and didn’t care for the sensation.

  What had gotten into him, anyway? His first weeks in the studio, he’d been the model employee, following her directions, working meticulously and quietly, showing up early and expressing a willingness to stay late, and offering her endless support. But lately? It seemed he was trying to rise to the top and wanted to use her as the stepping stool to get there. What had brought about the change?

  Her pacing ceased, her heart firing into her throat as realization struck. Andrew’s attitude change coincided with Sean McCauley’s visit to her studio. But why? Before she had a chance to explore the reasoning behind Andrew’s behavior, a tap at her door signaled the arrival of a visitor. Charging to the front door, she swung it open and returned the smile Sean McCauley offered.

  “Right on time,” she said, glancing at the silver watch that circled her wrist.

  “And you’re ready to go.” His eyes glowed with approval.

  “Yes, well, punctuality has been drilled into me from an early age.” She underscored her words with a light laugh, reaching for her coat, which hung on a hall tree beside the front door. “My mother always said—”

  Sean plucked the coat from her hands and held it open. For a moment, she stared at the coat, her heart tripping through her chest at a pace far above normal. Then turning her back to him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and finished her thought in a reedy tone. “Being late is disrespectful. Respectfulness has always been one of her favorite virtues.”

  “I think our mothers would get along well then.”

  She faced him, sliding her hands behind her neck to release her hair from the coat’s collar. His gaze seemed to follow the tumble of her curls across her shoulder, and a surprising warmth filled her cheeks. “So, have you decided on a restaurant?”

  He shrugged, grinning. “I’m the new one around these parts, so you choose.”

  “A place called the Apple Barrel is right off the highway on the outskirts of Newton, and they have a good variety of menu choices.”

  “That’ll do. Let’s go.” He held the door open for her, and as she passed through, she felt his hand lightly press the small of her back. The whisper touch sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine and a wave of heat to her face. The chill evening air whisked across her, cooling her cheeks. She hugged herself and danced in place while waiting for him to unlock the car door.

  His smile as he popped the car door open for her sent a second rush of fire through her face. While she waited for him to round the car and get behind the wheel, she reminded herself this was a business dinner, not a date. But her jumbled nerves didn’t settle down until midway through the meal.

  Sean carried a seasoned french fry to his mouth, bit off the end, and chewed, the movement of his mustache oddly fascinating. Beth wasn’t unfamiliar with facial hair—Mitch had deliberately waited days between shaving to give himself a rugged Indiana Jones appearance—but Sean’s neatly groomed, red-gold mustache was a far cry from Mitch’s dark shadow.

  An image of Andrew’s clean-shaven face with its square chin and firm jaw popped into her mind, competing with the mental pictures of Mitch and the real-life view of Sean across the table. To rid herself of the parade of images, she approached the purpose of their time together.

  “You haven’t told me whether the church committee was interested in your idea.”

  Sean’s face lit up. “Ah, my idea...” He used his napkin to wipe his mouth and hands, set the wadded paper square aside, and leaned forward, eagerness in his bearing. “They liked my idea very much and would like to see an official sketch of the proposed window.”

  Two major projects in quick succession! Beth caught her breath. “Wow!”

  Sean laughed, his teeth flashing. “Wow, indeed. They gave me a copy of their church directory, which has photographs of the church building for you to use in creating your sketch. The photos are black and white, so I also have a description of the building to help you decide on appropriate colors.”

  Beth put down her fork. “You must be a great salesman.”

  Sean shrugged, grinning. “I know my business.” The statement, while confident, didn’t sound cocky. He placed his elbows on the table edge and linked his fingers together. “I’ve been praying for quite a while about this particular project. The committee was so firmly divided into two ranks, I knew I’d need to find a way to bridge their different goals. Having a modern building with a beautifully crafted Beth Quinn window serving as a reminder of the original building turned out to be a compromise they could accept.”

  “I’m so glad.” Beth realized she was pleased for two different reasons. First, it offered her another opportunity to build her business. And second, Sean indicated he had prayed about the project. His easy acknowledgment of consulting God gave her a feeling of security and increased her admiration for him.

  Sean reached across the table to cup his hand over hers. “And I’m so glad we’re in this together. I think you are going to be a wonderful asset to McCauley Church Construction. Making use of your skills is one of the smartest moves I’ve made.”

  The feeling of security instantly fled.

  TWELVE

  Sean observed Beth’s smile fade, her eyes taking on a wariness he’d witnessed on earlier occasions. But he had no idea what had caused the change. Removing his hand from hers, he reached for another french fry and a different topic.

  “So, tell me about your family. You mentioned you grew up in Wyoming even though your mom was raised in Sommerfeld. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  Beth’s gaze narrowed, as if she were trying to read more into his question than what existed, but after a moment, her expression relaxed and a slight smile teased the corners of her lips. “Not quite yet.”

  Her cryptic reply raised Sean’s eyebrows. “Not quite yet?”

  Her grin grew. “My mother is expecting twins in mid-May.”

  Sean whistled through his teeth. “Wow! Why’d she wait so long to have more children?” He realized how abrupt the question sounded, but to his relief, Beth didn’t appear insulted.

  She took a sip of her cola and shrugged. “My father died in an accident bef
ore I was born. It was just Mom and me during all of my growing-up years. Then when we returned to Sommerfeld, Mom’s childhood sweetheart started courting her again. They married a little over a year ago. Henry had never married, so having a family was important to him. They were both thrilled when they found out Mom was pregnant.”

  “I bet.” Sean tried to imagine being in his early twenties and becoming a big brother. The picture wouldn’t gel. He observed, “She must have been pretty young when she had you.”

  Another casual shrug lifted Beth’s shoulders. “Eighteen when she married my dad, nineteen when she had me.”

  “And widowed at nineteen.” Sean felt a rush of sympathy toward this woman he didn’t know. “She must be very strong.”

  “She is.” Beth’s eyes glimmered briefly. “She’s a wonderful mom.”

  Sean nodded. She must have been a good mother to have raised such a strong, capable daughter. His admiration for Beth grew with the knowledge of what must have been a difficult childhood. “And now she’ll be a mom again.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Twins, huh? That’ll keep her busy.”

  Beth offered a silent nod, lifting a bite of salad to her mouth.

  Gesturing with a french fry, Sean said, “It’s good you’re close by. You’ll be able to help her.”

  “Oh, she’s got lots of family around for that. I’ll be busy in my studio.”

  The glib tone seemed to carry an undercurrent Sean was tempted to explore, but he decided their relationship was too new to go digging below the surface. So he threw out another question. “Have you ever thought about relocating your studio?”

  Beth’s fork froze between her plate and her mouth. “Why do you ask that?”

  There was no denying the challenge in her tone. He frowned slightly. “Curiosity. I know you said you hoped to garner some of the café’s business when you open a showroom, but I would imagine in a small town like that, you’re still limiting yourself. A larger city might hold more opportunities for you.”

  Beth put her fork down without taking the bite. “Did you have a city in mind?”

  Sean’s frown deepened. The defensiveness she presented at times seemed so alien to her soft appearance. What brought about these mercurial mood swings? “Not particularly. Although remaining in Kansas would be good if you plan to ship projects throughout the United States. It’s centrally located.”

  “Well”—she picked up the fork again—“Sommerfeld is in central Kansas, so I think I’ll just stay put.” She chewed the bite of lettuce, swallowed, and then continued. “Besides, you haven’t been around in the warmer seasons. Between the farmers’ market, carriage rides, and café, plus the demonstrations for wheat-weaving, quilting, and harness-making, Sommerfeld teems with activity on the weekends. And all of those tourists are prime candidates for exploring my showroom.”

  He swallowed a chuckle. Her fervent defense of Sommerfeld was almost amusing in its intensity. He wondered briefly whom she tried to convince: him or herself. Biting off the end of a french fry, he raised his brows to indicate interest. “Harness-making demonstrations and carriage rides? I thought the Mennonites had converted to using automobiles.”

  “Most in Sommerfeld have,” Beth said, “but their Amish neighbors have not. They combine forces for these weekend events, since the visitors are mutually beneficial.”

  “I see.” Sean chewed and swallowed thoughtfully while Beth pushed the remainder of her salad around on her plate with the prongs of her fork. Something struck him. “You don’t claim to be Amish or Mennonite. You must feel like an odd duck in that community.”

  She dropped her fork with a clatter against the plate. Fixing him with a steady look, she took in a deep breath through her nose. “Sean, I’m not moving my studio. My mother is settled in Sommerfeld, and she’s my only family. I’ve told you several reasons why my location works for me. Please do not continue to try to influence me to go somewhere else even if it’s more convenient for you. ‘Odd duck’ or not, I won’t disrupt my life again for any man.”

  Ah. Suddenly the wariness, the defensiveness, the mood swings all made sense. Setting the french fry down, Sean pushed his plate aside and said softly, “So what was his name?”

  Beth’s cheeks streaked with pink. She fiddled with her napkin, her eyes downcast. “Whose name?”

  He released a low, light chuckle. “The man who disrupted your life.”

  The red stain in her cheeks deepened. She shot him a stern look. “That isn’t important.” Flopping her napkin over her plate with one hand, she lifted her glass with the other and took a long draw that helped return her face to its natural color. She put down the glass, jiggled it to make the ice clink, then set her chin at a proud angle. “I believe the purpose of this evening was to discuss the church window. So let’s get to it, huh?”

  Her meaning was clear. Her personal life was her personal life, and he would need to keep his distance. Well, he’d follow her lead ... for the moment. He could stick to business for now. But as their business relationship grew, he fully intended to pursue her on a more intimate level. Beth Quinn was far too intriguing for him to remain forever distanced.

  ***

  Beth yanked open the drawer containing goggles and snatched up a pair. The rubber headband caught on something, and when she gave a hard jerk to free the goggles, the band snapped against the side of her thumb.

  “Ouch!” She sucked the stinging spot. The back door swung open, and Andrew stepped through, catching her with her thumb in her mouth. She swung her hand abruptly downward and slammed her wrist on the edge of the open drawer. With another yelp, she thumped the drawer shut with her hip. The tail of her shirt caught in the drawer, holding her captive.

  Releasing a loud “Uh!” of aggravation, she grabbed her shirt and tried to jerk it free, only to hear the flannel tear. She puffed her cheeks and blew a noisy breath toward the ceiling.

  Andrew’s laughter rang, filling the room.

  For one brief moment, she glared at him. Then she felt a grin twitch her cheeks. How ridiculous she must have looked first with her thumb in her mouth and then attached to a drawer by her own shirttail. Imagining it from his viewpoint, her frustration evaporated, and she couldn’t help but laugh, too.

  He strode forward, pulled the drawer open a few inches, and removed the tattered tail of her shirt. He stuck his fingers through the tear, chuckling. “And how is your morning?” Dropping the fabric, he grinned at her.

  “I think you already know the answer to that,” she retorted in a saucy tone, but she smirked. His easy laughter and teasing comment gave her heart a lift. With an exaggerated sigh, she added, “I hope this start isn’t an indication of how the whole day will go.”

  “Stay away from the drawers, and you should be okay,” he advised.

  She teasingly held up her hands and took one giant sidestep away from the storage unit.

  Andrew grinned at her, but then his brow pulled down. He crossed his arms. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “That obvious, huh?” She moved toward the worktable, forcing him to shift back a few feet. The truth was, she’d gotten little sleep. Her mind had kept replaying bits of her dinner conversation with Sean McCauley. Even after prayer, she felt troubled by his seeming overzealous interest in her studio and subtle attempts to convince her to relocate.

  If only he weren’t such a handsome package, it might be easier to set thoughts of him aside. Unfortunately, the feminine side of her felt drawn to his boyish charm and obvious intelligence. But, she told herself firmly, he wasn’t worth losing sleep over!

  Andrew leaned against the opposite side of the worktable and watched her slide the goggles into place. “Did McCauley keep you out all night?”

  The easy camaraderie she’d felt only moments before now swept away. “No!” She slapped the goggles onto the tabletop and pointed at him. “And don’t even think of mentioning something like that to anyone in your family! My mother doesn’t need to be worrying about me.”
/>   Andrew drew back, his eyes wide. “I—I don’t talk about you to—”

  “Oh yes, you do. But not this time, Andrew.” Her anger grew, tiredness and frustration welling up to spew like steam from a boiling pot. “In fact, not ever again, for any reason. Do you know how tiresome it is to have everyone knowing my business? To go to the café for a cup of coffee and have people mention things that don’t concern them at all? I don’t like being the topic of gossip. If you’re going to continue working here, I’ve got to be able to trust you. And that means you— don’t— talk.”

  She glared into Andrew’s stricken face. Guilt smacked her. What was she doing, haranguing him in such an unprofessional manner?

  Her mother’s admonition to think before she spoke came back to haunt her, but it came too late. She couldn’t take back the words she’d just poured out.

  The expression on Andrew’s face, however, made her wish she could.

  She closed her eyes, asking God to calm her racing heart and tumbling thoughts. When she opened her eyes, she found Andrew still leaning on the worktable, seeming to examine his hands. She reached across the table and tapped his wrist. When he raised his gaze to meet hers, she spoke.

  “Andrew, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I am tired. It’s not because I was out all night—I was home by nine o’clock.” Why she felt the need for him to know that, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she felt compelled to assure him. “But I had a lot on my mind, so I didn’t sleep well, and I guess I’m grumpy.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  She sighed, fluttering her eyelashes and peeking at him out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m grumpy a lot?”

  He sucked in his lips—an obvious attempt to stop a grin from growing.

  Now that he’d lost the hurt look, she stopped goofing around and faced him squarely. “I really am sorry. I do get aggravated when Trina or Henry mention things they could know only if you told them. It makes me feel like people are talking behind my back.”