Twisted Threads (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 3)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  No hurry to decide.

  He took a bite of the pineapple fudge and suppressed a grimace. He’d choke it down, and be tactful. He ran through possible comments. Interesting, but not my favorite. Yes, that would work. Once he expressed his mild disapproval, he felt sure she’d ditch the recipe. She liked to please people, and especially him.

  Even though she was waiting on someone else, she caught his eye, favoring him with another smile. She must guess that the gifts had been from him. The wait would be a short one, he thought, pleased. Humoring her now was a small price to pay for the woman of his dreams.

  Annoyance brushed him because the necessity of earning a living kept him away from her more than he’d like. Once he solved his financial difficulties, they’d be able to sell her little business and she could stay at home. Hannah would like that, and he wouldn’t have to see her constantly catering to other men. Especially—

  A growl vibrated in his throat, although he didn’t give it voice.

  She would never again let Elias Burton into her shop when she was alone.

  Patience, he reminded himself. He’d seen enough to know that such relationship as Hannah and Elias had was businesslike, nothing he needed to worry about. She probably felt pressure to cater to him because he was the town’s golden boy, as much as his demands for special treatment must annoy her.

  No, Hannah’s mind wasn’t on Elias.

  While he waited for her full attention, he’d raise her spirits by keeping the gifts coming. And it would give him the greatest of pleasure to watch over her, every possible minute.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The quality of a gift is entirely in the eye of the receiver. Hannah Moss dreaded seeing what her apparent secret admirer gave her next.

  Steering her ten-year-old Toyota Highlander into the alley that ran behind her business, she let her foot lift from the gas pedal, the hesitation involuntary. Hannah’s heart fluttered unpleasantly at nothing more than the idea there might be a new gift waiting on the back doorstep of her business. Romantic, hell; she was finding the whole thing creepy. She’d spent the past month eyeing every male customer and wondering if he was the one sneaking around in the early morning to leave surprises for her. If he’d just ask her out, she could get it over with and say no.

  There was only one man who tempted her, and he wouldn’t play games like this. Sad to say, he also wouldn’t be interested in her.

  Reality sucked, but was better faced.

  Sweet Ideas: Books ’n Fudge was located halfway down the block. The fog was so thick this morning, she couldn’t see that far. As her car crept forward, the garbage dumpsters loomed through the mist. It would probably thin and dissolve as the morning went on; this was June, after all. In the meantime, the effect was gloomy, increasing her unease.

  It wasn’t unusual for her to be the first merchant here mornings, but Hannah wished she hadn’t been today. Which was stupid. She was weirded out because some guy was leaving her flowers and poetry and, absurdly, candy. All women should have it so rough.

  But still her skin crawled when she spotted the small, gift-wrapped box sitting on the top step, the pretty pastel paper and bow standing out in the grey murk of dense fog and against the steel door.

  She parked in her usual spot beside one of the dumpsters. After turning off the engine, Hannah sat without moving for a minute, her head turning cautiously. Nothing moved, not even the scrawny stray cat she’d been feeding recently. Uncomfortably aware someone might easily be lurking behind a dumpster, she nerved herself to get out, opening the hatch door of her SUV so she could access the trays of fudge and truffles she had already collected from the two women who made many of the goodies she sold. Then, key in hand, she crossed the alley, picked up the gift and let herself into the short hall that bisected the bathroom and her tiny office on one side and the storage room on the other.

  Hannah left the wrapped gift on a table in the bookstore then went back to haul in the stock she needed to set out in glass display cases before she could open.

  Hannah leased two now-connected storefronts, and so had separate entrances to the ‘sweets’ side and the larger bookstore proper. She had yet to turn either sign from Closed to Open when a rap on one of the doors made her jump. Her heart took a quick skip before she identified the man on the other side of the glass. Anxiety became anticipation. She felt like a teenage girl whose crush had actually said hi.

  There weren’t many people she’d let in before opening, but Elias Burton? She didn’t hesitate. A renowned artist who lived somewhere in the foothills of the coast range above Cape Trouble, he frequently set out this early to paint and sketch on the beach or in the woods of this wild stretch of coast. He must sometimes bring a cup of coffee from home, but an occasional stop here had expanded to three or four days a week. She would fill his travel mug and, more rarely, he bought truffles – never fudge - to take with him.

  “Damn fog,” he muttered as she let him in and locked the door behind him. He was dressed much as usual, in faded jeans, gray today, scarred black boots and a black hoodie. When the thermometer dipped, he’d add a fleece or down vest.

  “You’d be a poverty-stricken aspiring artist if it weren’t for the fog,” she pointed out.

  His grin turned a truly beautiful man into a devastating one. “You’re right. Shouldn’t curse my trademark.”

  Hannah chuckled, although it was a challenge to appear only mildly amused when her knees wanted to cave. It was a relief to step behind the glass display counter, which offered some protection.

  There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t feel at least a small tingle at the sight of this man, who could have made a fortune as a male model if he’d been inclined. She felt sure he’d be insulted at the idea.

  Six foot plus, he was broad-shouldered but lean rather than bulky. Blond hair that he sometimes let get shaggy was currently cropped short, accentuating the stark bone structure that made his face so striking, along with a straight, thin nose, a very sexy mouth and pale gray eyes with the glimmer of crystallized quartz. Even his hands, long-fingered and tan, were sexy. She dreamed about how those hands would feel on her body.

  “Just coffee today?” she asked.

  “No, I might get—” He had started to scan the mostly empty case. “You haven’t put out the truffles yet.”

  “Do you need to inspect?” she said lightly. “Ninety percent of the time, you go for caramel with sea salt.”

  This time, she’d swear only his eyes smiled. “Ah, but sea salt is another signature of mine.”

  She laughed again, as she was meant to, and wondered if he knew he was torturing her. No, of course not – he must be well aware how women saw him, but he was usually so reserved, he gave an impression of somberness that made his relatively rare smiles startling. He’d been coming into her store for months, speaking no more than absolutely necessary, never lingering, before one day he favored her with a faint smile that darn near stopped her heart. Blast the man.

  “Caramel is good,” he said. “Say, ten of them.” His glance strayed through the arched opening into the bookshop and stalled on the wrapped present, incongruous where she’d left it among local guidebooks and history, displayed with a bit of fishing net, a few shells and a glass float. “Is it your birthday?”

  Something odd in his tone caught her attention. It couldn’t be… Of course not.

  “No. It’s…um…”

  An eyebrow lifted. “A very late Valentine’s Day present?”

  Reassured by his sardonic tone, she sighed. “I seem to have acquired a secret admirer.”

  Elias turned a frowning look at her. “How do you know, if you haven’t opened this?”

  “Because it’s not the first gift. I’ve had flowers, a box of aplets and cotlets and a CD.”

  “What are aplets and cotlets?”

  “They’re candy made from apples and apricots, by a company in eastern Washington.”

  “Do you like them?” He sounded skeptical.

/>   Hannah sighed. “Yes. When people ask me if I love chocolate, I admit that my favorite goodies actually don’t have chocolate in them.”

  “Anybody could have heard you mention these aplets and cotlets.”

  She nodded.

  The frown deepened. “What CD?”

  “Michael Ball’s Songs of Love.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

  “He’s known for musical theater. He does a heartrending version of ‘Gethsemane’ from Jesus Christ Superstar.”

  Elias kept frowning at her. “You say ‘secret’ admirer.”

  He was making her more nervous. “Yes.”

  “Have you talked about liking Michael Ball?”

  Troubled, she said, “I…don’t know. Maybe?” She shivered. “Probably.” She’d asked herself the same question plenty of times. Her favorite flowers were lilacs. The deliciously fragrant bouquet had consisted of lilacs mixed with sprays of Queen Anne’s lace. What were the odds whoever was giving her gifts would have randomly chosen music by a singer she happened to love?

  Elias nodded, looking as disturbed as she felt. “Nobody has taken credit?”

  “No.”

  His eyes seemed darker than usual. “Are you flattered?”

  Hannah wrinkled her nose. “I feel awful saying this, when the presents were so well-chosen, but…to tell you the truth, I’m finding it unsettling. Which is why I didn’t rip the latest one open.”

  She thought he relaxed, but couldn’t be positive. He only nodded. “Open it. Let’s see what’s in it.”

  “You must want to get going,” she said weakly.

  “Hannah, this sounds more like stalking than some guy going for it with you. Have you told anyone about it?”

  “Everyone saw the flowers. They were beautiful and fragrant, so I put them out.”

  The lines in his forehead deepened. “A month ago? I remember seeing them. Did a florist deliver them?”

  “No, the vase was sitting on my back doorstep when I arrived in the morning, just like all the other presents have been. Lilacs were just coming in bloom, so I thought they might be from someone’s garden.” Except the arrangement had looked professional.

  When she didn’t move, Elias went to get the latest gift himself. Once he set it on top of the counter between them next to the cash register, Hannah had trouble looking away from the package. Maybe it was the paper, with lopsided red hearts against a pink background. Those hearts were just plain creepy. Elias didn’t say anything or so much as move. He only waited until finally, reluctantly, she reached for it, tugging the pink and white ribbon off before ripping. Inside was a box, holding…a mug. But not just any mug. Mouth dry, she lifted it out of the box and set it on the wood counter.

  “How…?” she whispered.

  Moving fast, Elias circled to her side. One of his hands closed on her upper arm, as if he thought she might collapse. “Hannah? Are you all right?”

  “I…” She tore her gaze from the vintage mug and met his eyes. “I had one just like this.” Her voice cracked. “When I was a teenager, I had a crush on Han Solo. Well, really Harrison Ford, but when he wore knee-high boots and was way younger.” She tried to smile. “You know.”

  “And?”

  “My best friend gave me a mug with him on it. This mug.” Her voice had risen. She probably sounded a little hysterical. “I loved that mug. Ian thought it was so cool.”

  Ian was her five-year-old son. With the latest incarnation of Star Wars appearing on lunch boxes, T-shirts and daypacks, he’d liked the idea Mommy had something from the first Star Wars.

  Elias nodded his understanding. Ian came to work with her sometimes, when daycare didn’t work out, and almost always on Saturdays and Sundays.

  “I broke it a couple weeks ago. My hands were wet, it slipped out of them into the sink and shattered.” Even though Elias still held her –touching her for the very first time – she was too unnerved to be as self-conscious as she’d have otherwise been. Instead, she looked back at the mug. Chewbacca stood behind a rakish, relaxed Han Solo. “I was at home. How would anybody know?”

  “Hey.” Elias turned her to face him and searched her face. “Did you grumble to anybody? Maybe here at work?”

  She was breathing too fast. God, what was wrong with her? This was a thoughtful gift. Her secret admirer had to have searched to find an identical replacement mug, maybe on eBay. She’d thought of looking herself but hadn’t gotten around to it.

  “I don’t think so.” She swallowed. “I don’t know. But even if I did, there had to be a million different Star Wars mugs made. How would he know to buy this one?” Her voice was rising again.

  “Hey,” Elias said again. Now both his big hands were on her shoulders, gently squeezing and relaxing. “Maybe you brought it with you one day? Or were sipping from it when you went out to get the newspaper at home, stayed to chat with a neighbor? Could be one of your customers stopped to say hi, you talked for a minute.”

  She didn’t remember anything like that, although…of course it was possible. And while she also didn’t remember bringing her mug to work with her, she might have. Why would that be memorable? And, more to the point, why would someone who saw her sip from her mug remember it well enough to buy an exact copy, weeks or even months later?

  Struggling for composure, Hannah went for a smile, when really she wanted to lean on him and feel his arms close securely around her. Standing so near, she was able to see glint of gold stubble and a tiny scar on his jaw she’d never noticed.

  “Thank you. I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

  His “probably” came slower than she liked. He squeezed her arms one last time before his hands dropped to his sides. “Hannah, has anyone asked you out recently? Or…are you dating someone already who might be trying to be romantic?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone.” No reason not to admit it. “And men ask me out once in a while, sure.” Early on, she’d been flattered. As tall as a lot of men, her face freckled and her hair carrot orange, she’d never had much draw before. Eventually, of course, she figured out why she had magically become a beacon. “I mean, the pool of local, single women isn’t that big. Doesn’t Monica tell you the same thing?”

  Except most men probably assumed, as Hannah did, that Monica and Elias had a thing going. A beautiful woman, Monica owned the Cape Trouble gallery that featured Elias’s work. He was in and out it often.

  “Subject hasn’t come up.” The unrevealing answer was typical Elias. His expression hadn’t changed at all.

  “Nobody has been especially insistent,” she said. “Most invitations have been really casual or even half-kidding.”

  “You know, if this bothers you, why don’t you give Daniel Colburn a call?”

  “The police chief? What’s he going to do? Run fingerprints? What are the odds my secret admirer has a criminal past?”

  “He could ask around.”

  “And wouldn’t that be humiliating to the poor guy trying to impress me?”

  “He should know he’s scaring you instead,” Elias said, voice hard. “But there’s probably no harm in waiting to see what happens. It might not have occurred to him that there’s an implication he’s watching you at home.”

  A chill crept through her. Hiding her disquiet, she nodded, forced a smile and said, “I’m really holding you up, Elias. But I appreciate you listening.”

  His withdrawal was subtle but real, as if he realized he had gotten way better acquainted with her in the last few minutes than he had ever intended to be. She rang up his purchase, he handed over some bills, accepted a box holding the truffles as well as his own now-full travel mug, and said, “Thanks for letting me in early. Have a good day, Hannah.” Then he was gone, the bell attached to the door tinkling.

  By the time she followed him to the door to unlock and flip the sign over, he was gone, lost in the dense fog that still cloaked the coastal town.

  Hannah wondered whether he might have crossed the stre
et to the Shore Gallery, where lights were now on. For all she knew, he bought the chocolate for Monica, who owned the gallery, rather than for himself.

  Preferring not to picture the resulting grateful embrace, Hannah made herself return to her preparations for opening.

  But first she carried the mug back to her office and put it in a drawer. Out of sight and, she hoped, out of mind.