The House on Main Street

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Why don’t you ask Tessa or Gertrude? I don’t want to speak for them.” But he would like to be speaking to them. One of them, anyway. He glanced in the direction Tess had disappeared. Dozens of people were crowded around something. Cade caught a flash of deep red hair and a pale face. Okay. Not something. Someone.

  “You know how Gertrude is. It’s hard for her to accept help.”

  “True,” Cade murmured, wondering if Tess was in need of rescue and caring a whole hell of a lot more about that than about Gertrude’s difficulty accepting help.

  “Talk to them, will you? Just feel them out and see if there’s anything we can do to make this transition easier for everyone.” Natalie smiled, her eyes soft chocolate brown. She looked like a mother, sister, best friend, and Cade couldn’t resist her plea any more than he could have a plea from his family.

  “All right. I’ll talk to them.”

  “You’re a dear.” She patted his cheek and nearly skipped over to a small group of elderly ladies.

  “She’s hard to resist, that one.” Jethro sighed dramatically, his green eyes flashing with humor.

  “Is that why you let her do the talking when the church needs something?”

  “That is exactly why. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do a little mingling. We’re getting near the end of the fiscal year, and our coffers are about five thousand dollars short. Feel free to make a donation the next time you visit.”

  Cade laughed as the reverend walked away.

  He liked the guy. He really did.

  Right now, though, he wasn’t all that concerned about Jethro’s coffers or Gertrude’s inability to accept help. More folks were crowding around Tess, and Cade thought she might be in danger of being crushed. He pushed his way through the wall of people, “White Christmas” playing over the intercom.

  It took a minute, but he finally managed to fight his way to the center of the crowd. No Tessa, though. She must have slipped through a crack and gone into hiding.

  He glanced around the room. Pine boughs hung from the windows, white lights sparkling from between deep green needles. Two large fireplaces were decorated with Christmas lights and deep red and green stockings that would be filled and handed out at the annual Christmas party. This year, the stockings reflected Ida’s theme. They were long and hand knit, and looked like something that would have hung there at the turn of the last century.

  At one end of the room, several large tables were laden with snacks. At the other end a display case stood between floor-to-ceiling windows, the glass front revealing the small white angel Gertrude had donated.

  “You heading for the food, Cunningham?” someone drawled, and Cade glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see Max Stanford walking up behind him.

  “If I can get there before the seniors and juniors demolish whatever is left. Good job on the display case.” He eyed the other man’s starched uniform and polished shoes. “You heading to the office?”

  “I’m out on patrol. The mayor asked me to stop in to make sure that things were going smoothly. Crowd control and all that.” He glanced around. “Looks like everything is under control. That being the case, I may as well partake of Charlotte’s cooking.”

  “That worked out nicely for you.”

  “What can I say? I’m just one of those people who touches something and watches it turn to gold.”

  “You’re full of shit, Maxwell. You know that.”

  “I do, but right at this moment, I’d rather be full of whatever Charlotte made. That lady can co—” He stopped, his eyes tracking something behind Cade. “Now, would you look at that? She is a fine specimen of a woman.”

  Cade knew who he was going to see before he turned, but he turned anyway and saw Tessa a few feet away, talking to one of the blue-haired ladies from the diner. She’d taken off her coat, and her dress fell from her neck to her knees, covering every inch of skin in between. She shifted, and he caught a glimpse of all those buttons, the ones that went from her nape down to the small of her back. Fire roared through his blood, and he took an unconscious step toward her.

  “I think I’d better get what I came for and get back to work,” Max mumbled, but he wasn’t looking at the buffet tables; he was eyeing Tessa. So was just about every adult male in the vicinity.

  For some reason, that really pissed Cade off.

  Max stopped at the elbow of one of the ladies, touched her shoulder, and said something Cade couldn’t hear. The woman laughed, and Tessa smiled a warm, you’ve-caught-my-interest smile.

  It took about two seconds, and then Max had his hand on Tessa’s arm and was leading her to the buffet table. Not one blue-haired lady followed. They were probably already planning the wedding.

  Which maybe should have been just fine with Cade.

  It wasn’t, and he’d be damned if he’d stand by and let the biggest player in town turn Tessa’s head.

  Chapter Eleven

  Being hounded by half the population of Apple Valley was not the way she wanted to spend the evening, but Tessa kept a smile on her face as she grabbed a dessert plate and filled it.

  “So, you’re from Annapolis?” the good-looking police officer with the overconfident smile asked.

  She wanted to tell him to buzz off. He reminded her a little too much of Kent, every pore oozing refinement and polish. She was surprised the guy hadn’t donned a tuxedo instead of his uniform.

  “Yes.”

  “I attended the naval academy there,” he offered, despite the fact that she was trying really hard to give off a not-interested vibe.

  “That’s nice.”

  “You’ve visited the campus?”

  “No.” So, go on your merry little way and find a woman who wants to hear all about it.

  “Too bad. There’s a lot of history there. Of course, there’s a lot of history in Annapolis, period. The architecture itself is astounding.” It was the first interesting thing he’d said since he’d asked if she was hungry.

  Maybe he wasn’t just a pretty face.

  A very pretty face, btw. The guy looked like he’d just walked off the cover of a magazine. Sandy hair perfectly in place, his teeth too white and too perfect.

  Yep. A Kent clone.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she offered anyway and was rewarded with a warm smile.

  “I’ve heard you’re an interior designer.”

  “Yes.” She bit into a cookie, hoping that would forestall more conversation.

  “My grandmother was one. She taught me to appreciate fine furniture and decor.”

  “Um . . . wow?”

  He smiled again, this time with just enough mischief in his eyes for her to know that he’d heard her sarcasm. “Just thought I’d give it a try. After all, you are the most stunning woman I’ve seen in years.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. He might be a Kent clone, but he was funny and very overt in his efforts to gain her interest.

  She liked that. Even if she wasn’t at all tempted by him. “Thank you, but I—”

  “Weren’t you heading back to the office, Stanford?” Cade interrupted, his hand sliding around Tessa’s elbow.

  And suddenly she knew exactly what temptation felt like. She wanted to lean into him so badly her body swayed with the force of it.

  She stepped away, shoving an entire cookie in her mouth so she wouldn’t say something stupid like I’ve been wondering where you were.

  “Right after I eat this.” The officer popped a quarter of a sandwich in his mouth and grabbed a cookie from another tray. “And this. It was nice meeting you, Tess. I’m sure we’ll see each other around town.”

  He sauntered away.

  Every under-eighty woman in the room watched him go. Even Tess. It was difficult not to watch a guy like him.

  “He’s trouble, Tess,” Cade said as he grabbed a plate and piled it with sandwich quarters and cookies. “Just so you know.”

  “What guy isn’t?” She focused her attention on Cade and th
en wished she hadn’t. He didn’t have the cocky confidence of Stanford, the stuff that oozed out of pores and looked a heck of a lot like arrogance. Cade’s confidence was more the hard-earned kind that came from years of working hard and doing well at it. The kind that didn’t need to ooze because it just . . . was.

  No wonder he’d made sheriff at such a young age.

  Who wouldn’t put their trust in him?

  “That’s pretty cynical. Even for you.” He snagged a couple of slices of gingerbread, and she took one of two that were left. She might be in a mood, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “I’m not cynical. I’m a realist.” She bit into the spicy sweet bread and nearly swooned with joy. She’d been working hard from sunup until sundown, a smidge of an idea in her head. Something she might just be able to make work. But she had to give the house an upscale look first. Had to take it all the way back to the time when the Rileys had been Apple Valley royalty. Then she might be able to convince people to start shopping there. Better yet, she might be able to pull people in from Spokane and Coeur d’Alene.

  With a good enough reputation and impressive enough product, people might even come from Seattle and Portland. Quite a drive, but if she made it worth their while—

  “I’ve lost you, Red,” Cade said quietly, his finger brushing her cheek. “Where have you gone?”

  “Back to the house. I have a lot to do if I’m going to make a phoenix rise from the ashes of what Emily and Dave left behind.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can.” It wasn’t just flattery; he meant it, and that meant more to Tess than it should have. More than she wanted it to.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, frantically looking for Gertrude and Alex. She’d been sidetracked by Ethel Morris and Lucy Candlewick. Twin sisters who’d married, raised a couple of kids, and then opened a quilting shop on Main Street when Tess was a kid, they’d been at the funeral and had brought at least three chicken casseroles to the house since Tess had begun renovations.

  She suspected they were more interested in seeing her progress than in charity, but they were sweet, and she couldn’t hold it against them.

  “There’s no need to search for the nearest escape route, Tess,” Cade said quietly, and she found herself looking in his eyes again. Blue, blue eyes with laugh lines that fanned out at the corners.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Sure you were, and I’m wondering why.”

  “I told you—” She caught a glimpse of Gertrude’s fuchsia suit moving through the entryway. Saved by her aunt! “I see Gertrude and Alex. I’d better go make sure they’re okay.”

  She didn’t run, but she might have if there hadn’t been so many people to navigate around. She finally made it through the crowded banquet room and into the entryway.

  Gertrude and Alex weren’t in the hall, so she walked into the spacious room to the left of the foyer. Chairs had been set up facing a raised platform and podium, and a couple of dozen people were seated in them. A few more were gathered near the large fireplace, sipping coffee and talking.

  A baby grand piano sat on the platform, pushed far back toward the wall and covered with a thick blanket. Only its legs were visible, hand carved and swirling in an Art Nouveau style.

  Tess wanted to lift the blanket and get a look at what was underneath. Apparently she wasn’t the only one. Alex hovered over the piano, tugging at the blanket with just enough force to make it lift and fall again. Gertrude had her hand on his arm and was trying to manhandle him off the platform, but he wanted none of it.

  Tess couldn’t blame him. If there was one thing she knew her nephew loved, it was playing piano. Still, this wasn’t the place or time.

  The easiest thing would be to walk away and let Gertrude deal with it. Throw up her hands and pretend the problem wasn’t hers or that she didn’t know it existed.

  It’s what Tessa’s mother had done: turned her back and acted like she’d never given birth to her daughters. The night Tessa had watched her mother back out of Gertrude’s driveway, she’d sworn she’d never be like the woman who’d birthed her.

  Until now, she hadn’t had an opportunity to challenge that childish promise.

  “Alex Daniel Riley, you come away from there!” Gertrude hissed, tugging harder on Alex’s arm as a small crowd gathered around, murmuring not so helpful advice.

  Tess was pretty sure Alex was about to drop down in front of the piano and hang on to its legs for dear life.

  Move your ass and take care of this, her childhood self shouted, and Tess hurried forward, her heart racing with the need to do things right. “What’s going on?”

  “What does it look like?” Gertrude huffed. “The boy has decided he needs to play piano, but this thing is nearly a hundred years old. It’s not an instrument for a little boy, Alex. Even if it was, this isn’t the time to be playing it.”

  “Why not?” Alex said reasonably, his fingers curled in the blanket.

  “Because we’re here about that angel you’ve been worrying about. The whole town is. They’re not here to listen to piano music.”

  “Maybe they want to,” Alex responded, and Gertrude looked like she was about to lose whatever patience she had left.

  “Alex—”

  “I’ll take care of this, Gertrude.” It seemed like the right thing to say, but when Gertrude huffed again and walked away, Tess wasn’t exactly sure how to follow through.

  “You have a piano at home, Alex,” she reminded her nephew, as if he needed any kind of reminder about the thing he seemed to love most in life.

  “Not like this.” The awe in his voice was unmistakable. He lifted the blanket and peered underneath.

  Tess couldn’t help it. She looked, too. Seriously. An antique piano that looked to be in pristine condition? She would have been all over it if she’d seen it in a store or at an estate sale.

  Sure enough, the keys were yellowed ivory, the wood tiger maple, stained to a rich burnt red. She whistled under her breath, and Alex glanced her way, their eyes meeting for a surprisingly long moment. He never looked straight into her face for any length of time—certainly not into her eyes—but he had, and she recognized something in his gaze. Zeal. Passion. Fervor. Whatever it was that drove Tess to hunt antique stores and haunt estate sales. The thing that pounded in her chest when she spotted a beautiful old item.

  Suddenly, her intention to lead Alex off the platform and to the snack table or the angel or outside disappeared.

  They both wanted to lift the blanket and reveal the piano. So, why not do it?

  “All right,” she said, making up her mind. “Let’s take a look.” She backed out from under the blanket and waited for Alex to do the same.

  His hair stood on end from static, and she smoothed it down, wishing that he’d look into her eyes again.

  “We’re not going to touch it, though, okay? No playing it. We wouldn’t want to get into any trouble with the mayor.” She lifted the blanket and folded it, her breath catching at the beauty of the wood and those ivory keys.

  “Wow!” Alex breathed, and sat on the piano bench, his fingers running along the keys before Tess could react.

  “Alex . . .”

  He played the Christmas carol that was drifting from the intercom, the mellow sound of the piano more beautiful than the canned chords and notes Alex was matching.

  God, he was good, his small hands flying up and down the keyboard. First he played “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” and then “Frosty the Snowman.”

  Conversation died down, the murmur of laughter and chatter drifting away as people found chairs and settled down to listen. Soon the room was filled, every seat occupied, every bit of space taken up.

  Ida walked up to the platform and took Tessa’s elbow. “Let’s sit down and enjoy the concert.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind him playing—”

  “That is not playing, Tess,” Ida chided. “That is creating. He’s telling a story. Can’t you hear it?”

  Tess cou
ld. Every note, every chord, every touch on the piano. If she closed her eyes, she could probably see it in colors and shapes and patterns. Not words, but that was Alex. Caught in a world that he didn’t understand, forced to use a language that didn’t make much sense to him. No wonder he spoke so infrequently.

  Someone turned off the intercom, but Alex didn’t stop playing. His next song was one that Tessa was familiar with, but that she doubted anyone else had ever heard. That sad melody that he’d played the night she’d decided not to move him to Annapolis.

  It burned in her chest and in her heart. She loved it and hated it, because it seemed to say all the things Alex couldn’t and probably a hundred things that she couldn’t say and wanted to.

  When he finished, the room was silent except for a few quiet sniffles. His hands fell away from the keys, and he sat quietly, apparently done with his impromptu concert.

  “Well,” Ida finally said, her voice huskier than normal. “That was beautiful, Alex. Just beautiful.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that last song before. Does it have a name?”

  Alex scraped his foot along the floor, his head still bent over the piano.

  “‘My Angel’s Song,’” he said clearly, and a quiet murmur went up in the room. Most of the people there had probably never heard him speak, but that didn’t mean he was a circus sideshow.

  Tess tightened her hand into fists, ready to come out swinging.

  “That’s a beautiful name,” Ida said before Tessa could tell the crowd to keep their oohs and aahs to themselves. “Is it about Miriam’s angel? The one we have here?”

  Alex nodded, and Ida smiled. “Let’s go see her, shall we?” She looked at the audience. “This would be a wonderful time for Gertrude to read the letter Miriam’s great-great-niece sent. Are you in here somewhere, Gertrude?”

  “Right here!” Gertrude called from the back of the crowd, waving her arm frantically.

  “Wonderful!” Ida took Alex’s hand and smiled into his face. Alex smiled back, and the entire room seemed to sigh in unison.

  Even Tess sighed, because it was so good to see that smile.