by Mia Ross
Quite honestly, she believed that if grown-ups could find a way to be as open-minded as kids were, life would be a lot more fun for everyone.
“And I’m very glad he did,” she told them as she went up the front porch steps of the vintage Craftsman house. “We can always use someone like your dad around here. In Liberty Creek,” she added quickly, to avoid any potential misunderstanding. The Marshall girls were sweet and engaging, but she was well aware that children often repeated things they’d heard without realizing how they might be received when heard out of context. She didn’t want Rick—or anyone else—getting the idea that she personally liked having him around. Considering the Liberty Creek gossip mill, that was the last thing either of them needed.
Pushing open the beautiful original door that Sam had recently refinished for her, she stepped into the living room and motioned them inside. “Come on in.”
The girls pushed past their father and stopped so abruptly, he nearly ran them over. When he’d regained his balance, he looked around with the same awed expression they were wearing.
“Wow,” he murmured, clearly trying to take everything in at once. “This is not at all what I was expecting.”
“I don’t have much use for a living room,” she explained. “What I needed was a studio.”
“And I’d say you have one. This is incredible. Don’t touch anything, girls.”
“Oh, they’re fine,” Emma assured him. “Everything’s dry, and there’s nothing breakable in here. You caught me on a good day—I just cleaned.”
Eyes sparkling in appreciation, Caitlin slowly made her way between easels, pausing to stare at the panoramic landscape that was almost finished. It was so large, it spanned two easels all by itself. Looking up at Emma, she asked, “Is this the town?”
“You have a good eye,” Emma praised her student with a smile. Taking down an aging tintype that was tacked to the upper edge of the canvas, she handed it to Caitlin. “It’s Liberty Creek, but this is how it looked a long time ago. Back when people drove horses and wagons instead of cars, and my grandmother’s bakery was a general store that sold things like fabric, candy, hammers and saddles.”
Rick sauntered over and looked above their heads at the scene. “This is what Liberty Creek Forge looked like back in its heyday?”
“More or less. This piece is a surprise for Brian and Lindsay, so please don’t mention it to either of them. I thought it might look nice hanging in the lobby at the forge.”
“Nice?” he echoed with a chuckle. “I’d say it’ll be the centerpiece. The detail is incredible, right down to the dog sitting on the front landing. It looks just like their Riley, Aussie markings and all. It doesn’t seem like I’m looking at a portrait of something two-dimensional. You have a knack for making it feel like I actually went back in time and am standing right there.”
Emma had been sketching, painting and sculpting her entire life. It was something she’d always done, because she couldn’t not do it. People often admired her work, but to most she was the school’s art teacher. Or Sam and Brian’s little sister, or Ellie’s youngest grandchild. It was one of the drawbacks of never having left home, she supposed. People saw her as the starry-eyed pixie she’d always been, not the capable woman she’d become.
She wasn’t one to cater to her ego, but Rick’s assessment of her talent made her stand up a little straighter, proud to share her work with him.
There were several large frames standing on edge against one wall, and he slowly flipped through them, asking questions about her inspiration for each. One in particular appeared to interest him, and he pulled it free to set it out on its own. To her utter astonishment, he looked over at her and asked, “Is this for sale?”
“For sale?” she squeaked, totally flabbergasted by the idea of it. “You mean, you want to buy it from me?”
“If you’re willing to part with it, then yes. My office at the bank is about the blandest place you’ve ever seen, and I’ve been hunting for artwork to bring in some color. This autumn forest scene would be perfect.”
“It would?” Realizing she sounded like a complete moron, Emma scraped up some dignity and tried to sound more professional. “I’m pleased that you like it so much.”
“How much is it?”
She’d never sold anything this large before. Mostly, the oversize canvases were gifts for family and friends. Or they wound up hanging on her own walls until she ran out of space and carefully wrapped them in brown paper before consigning them to the attic. Completely out of her depth, she fell back on a tactic that she’d learned from her late grandfather when he used to sell his handmade metal items at the area’s many summertime crafts shows. “That depends. How much do you think it’s worth?”
Rick tilted his head in a chiding gesture. “You’re not exactly a hardheaded businesswoman, are you?”
“Not many dreamers are,” she informed him, smarting a bit from the dig.
Judging by the sudden shift in his features, he’d picked up on her annoyance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. As far as I’m concerned, your approach is a refreshing change from the money-first people I deal with every day.”
“Oh. Well, then, apology accepted.”
When she named a price that seemed reasonable to her, he shook his head. “You’re selling yourself way too short. A one-of-a-kind piece this size, of this quality, is worth twice that much at any art gallery in New England.”
Emma’s jaw fell open in astonishment. “Seriously? I had no idea.”
“I can see that,” he commented, adding a smile that made her feel slightly less naive. Setting the frame carefully against the wall, he pulled out his wallet and fingered through the contents before handing her several bills. “Will this be enough to hold it until I can come back with the rest and pick it up?”
It was more money than she’d ever made in an afternoon, and she tried not to stammer. “Of course. Would you like to have it framed?”
“You do that, too?”
“Well, Sam makes them custom for me. He’s the carpenter in the family.”
“That’s right—I’ve seen his craftsmanship over at the forge. When I was admiring the repaired vintage woodwork he recently installed there, Brian told me that there’s nothing Sam can’t build or fix.”
Her oldest brother had been through a lot since leaving the army, and Rick’s admiration of his skills made her smile. “Very true. If you get in touch with him and tell him what style of frame you’d like, I’m sure he’d be happy to take care of it for you.”
“Sounds good.” Flashing her a quick smile, he said, “Girls, let’s help Miss Calhoun unload her car and then head home. We’ve still got things to get done today.”
In a matter of minutes, all of her crafts show supplies were stowed in the enclosed side porch she’d converted into her storage space, and she was waving goodbye to the Marshalls. When she was alone, she strolled into the living room and stared thoughtfully at the large painting she’d somehow managed to sell without even trying. A teacher’s salary didn’t go very far when you were maintaining your own house and still paying off a car and college loans, so the extra cash would be a welcome addition to her modest bank account.
This month it would be easier to pay her bills, and she might even be able to put a little bit away for a future rainy day. They always seemed to pop up at the worst times, like when the aging chimney had started leaking into the living room and needed repair in the middle of a frigid, snowy January.
Glancing up, she smiled. “I’m not sure why You did that, but thank You.”
* * *
Emma was late.
Rick checked his watch again, confirming that it was now ten after three and he was still waiting for her. When she’d expressed concern about interrupting his afternoon, he’d assumed that meant she valued his time. It had made it easier for him to be more
generous than he might have been otherwise.
But now he was regretting the uncharacteristic lapse in his clockwork-style routine. Business school had taught him the importance of efficiently using every minute of the day to benefit whichever company he was working for. Having spent the past six years climbing the ladder through the banking industry, he knew that at least part of his success was due to his unyielding discipline.
But there was something about Emma Calhoun that made him want to step outside his regimen and be more spontaneous. That unnamed quality had nudged him to cast aside his family’s usual Saturday routine and follow her to the quirky home filled with a creative light that he still remembered vividly. While his daughters enjoyed their tumbling array of collectibles and stuffed animals, in his own room he preferred clean, simple lines and as little clutter as possible. He attributed the difference to their younger view of the world around them, but maybe there was more to it than that.
Quarter after, he noticed while he checked into his email to avoid feeling as if he was wasting his afternoon. It wasn’t like the lovely art teacher had asked him to bend the rules for her, he reminded himself wryly. He’d done it willingly, and all on his own. Lesson learned.
“Rick, I’m so sorry,” the lady in question apologized as she lunged through the door into his office, loaded down with an armful of manila folders. “There was an art emergency at school, and I totally forgot to call you to let you know I was running late.”
That was a new one, he thought as he shook off his irritation and stood to motion her to one of the client chairs opposite his desk. “What’s an art emergency?”
“One of my middle schoolers was making a model of Independence Hall and accidentally glued his fingers together. I know, I know,” she added, holding up one hand in a quieting gesture. “It’s crazy, and I didn’t believe him at first, either. But when I realized he was serious, I knew I couldn’t send him home like that. Once I stopped laughing, it took me a good ten minutes to get him unstuck and cleaned up.”
Her charming account chased away the last of his annoyance, and he chuckled. “Boys, huh?”
“And how. If you knew half the scrapes my brothers got into when we were growing up, you’d never believe they survived.”
“Meaning you were the perfect child?” The question sounded perilously close to teasing, which was completely inappropriate given the professional setting they were in, and he gave himself a mental shake. In his defense, it was hard to remain detached from someone as bubbly as Emma Calhoun.
“The most perfect one,” she informed him, mischief twinkling in those crystal-blue eyes. “Just ask my dad.”
Rick had encountered Steve Calhoun a couple of times and had no doubt that the burly mechanic had been wrapped around Emma’s little finger since the time she was old enough to smile at him. Warm and open, she’d quickly broken through Rick’s usual reserve, and he was an expert at keeping his distance. Being the father of two charmers himself, he could only imagine how completely Steve doted on his only daughter.
Eager to move the conversation onto safer footing, he glanced down at the folders she’d dumped onto his formerly empty leather blotter. “So, what have you got here?”
“Ideas for projects, sketches, wish lists from the kids, things like that. You said to bring everything related to the after-school program.”
“When I said everything, I meant all your receipts and invoices,” he explained patiently. He thought he’d been perfectly clear about what he needed, but apparently they had a difference of opinion on what was important.
“Oh, I have those, too.”
Opening one of the unmarked folders, she finger-walked through the pages inside, plucking out a receipt here and there. After about a minute of that he honestly thought he was about to lose his mind. “They’re all mixed in, then?”
“Well, yes,” she replied as if she had no idea that there was a better way to organize her materials. “I keep them connected to the project idea they belong with. That way I know how many kids wanted to do each one, and how much I spent on supplies to get them done.”
Rick grudgingly admitted that her system did make sense. In a convoluted, totally random kind of way. Her free-spirited demeanor reminded him of his daughters, and it occurred to him that the best strategy for getting through this task was to recognize that their minds worked in different ways. Once he accepted that, he could figure out how to meld their vastly dissimilar talents into a cohesive approach.
He could take a shot at it, anyway. Fortunately for him, he liked taking on a new challenge once in a while. It helped to keep his problem-solving chops in shape.
“Tell you what,” he suggested, tapping the stack of folders. “Why don’t we go through these together, sorting and categorizing your records into something that we can present to the board on Wednesday?”
Her forehead puckered in confusion. “I thought we were going to do that now.”
“I didn’t realize how big a job it was,” he confided, feeling more than a little foolish about admitting that to her. “I have a meeting at four, but tomorrow afternoon is clear and we won’t be rushed to get it done.”
For some reason she hesitated. After a moment she said, “That’s very nice, but tomorrow afternoon is supposed to be beautiful. I hate to intrude on time you could be spending with Caitlin and Aubrey.”
Quite honestly, it had never occurred to him that with his schedule clear after one o’clock tomorrow, he could leave the bank and hang out with his girls either in their spacious backyard or at the town playground. His father had instilled in him the importance of always striving for more, working harder than his peers to ensure that his achievements shone the brightest. In any business, having happy customers translated to success, which brought you more income and security for the future. But now that this soft-spoken teacher had pointed out another way for him to use his free afternoon, Rick saw no reason not to take advantage of it.
“I’ll do that,” he agreed with a smile, “and then you can come by my house around five tomorrow after the arts program is over. We’ll be back from the park by then, and I know the girls would love to see you.”
“What a fabulous idea!” Emma approved, eyes sparkling with a childlike enthusiasm that even a pragmatic data hound like him could appreciate. “Maybe they’d like to help me pick out which projects I should include in the slides. I usually do that to show the board some real-life examples of our results and the benefit the kids get from working on their projects.”
She’d called herself a dreamer the other day, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she had a practical streak under all that perky sweetness. “That’s a nice touch, for sure. With the fate of the arts program on the line, this presentation is important to you and a lot of other people here in town. If we both put our minds to it, we’ll have a better chance of getting your proposal approved.”
She studied him for a few moments before asking, “What about you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You made it sound like the program’s not important to you. If that’s the case, I don’t understand why you’d go to all this trouble to save it.”
“I’m a numbers guy,” he explained, leaning back in his chair to put a little more distance between them. “But intellectually, I understand the value of creative things.”
“You liked that landscape painting well enough to pay me a lot of money for it,” she pointed out, clearly baffled by his response. “Or were you just being nice to Caitlin’s new teacher?”
In spite of his resolve to treat her professionally, he smiled as he shook his head. “No, I really do like it. As you can see, this office needs something.”
“It needs a lot of somethings,” she corrected him with a cheeky grin. “All these empty beige walls... This must be what the inside of oatmeal looks like.”
Her comment made him la
ugh out loud, and through his open door he saw a couple of the other managers stop and stare at him. Their amazed expressions told him they didn’t know he had a sense of humor, and in fairness, he hadn’t given them much reason to think otherwise. As far as his coworkers knew, he was a serious, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of person who worked hard and always got the job done flawlessly and ahead of schedule.
Now that he thought about it, he seldom laughed unless he was with his girls. Why that had suddenly changed was beyond him, but he couldn’t deny that his lovely guest had something to do with it. Although the easing of his usual composure felt good to him, he recognized that the effect would by necessity be short-lived.
Once he was finished with the task he’d volunteered for, he and Emma would return to the uncomplicated relationship they’d had since he’d moved to Liberty Creek. She was his daughter’s teacher, and he was her brother’s banker. Simple, straightforward and pleasant.
The realization should have been comforting to him. But as he helped her scoop up the documents she’d brought with her, there was a sinking feeling in his chest. It only got worse as he walked her to the bank’s main entrance door and said goodbye.
Back in his office, he sensed that something had changed. It took him a minute, but then he registered the fact that the perfume she wore had lingered behind her, lacing the air with the scent of a summertime garden. The idea of sharing a picnic in the town’s charming gazebo with her flashed into his head.
At this point in his life, a romantic connection was the furthest thing from his mind, he thought as he resolutely got back to work.
Allowing himself to fall into a relationship with another woman battling cancer was simply out of the question. After two years of unimaginable heartache, he and his daughters had finally begun to recover from losing Sarah. He had no intention of setting them on that path again.
Resilient as they were, he wasn’t sure they’d make it through a second time.
