The Lover’s Knot Page 4

  CHAPTER 8

  We walked next door to the shop my grandmother had owned for more than thirty years. And looking at it, it might seem as if she hadn't gotten rid of anything the entire time.

  The quilt shop had a treasure hunt quality to it. While there were organized shelves with bolts of fabric lined up by color, there were just as many bolts leaning up against the wall. Fabrics of colorful flowers, cute baby animals, and Christmas prints were piled on top of one another near the cash register at the front.

  To get to the rest of the shop, you had to make a semicircle around a dangerously overloaded rack of books and down an aisle that was one person deep.

  If you did, you would be rewarded with a dazzling display of quilts. Eleanor had made the large, wildly colorful ones with abstract patterns that appeared to follow no rules. Nancy, on the other hand, was clearly the creator of the small, carefully constructed and elaborately quilted pieces. In the center was one of Eleanor's favorites-a small, bright log cabin quilt that Grace, the woman who taught her to quilt, had made. Each was enough to inspire even me to take up quilting.

  Nancy caught me staring at the quilts. "Are you ready to make one of your own?"

  "At some point," I admitted.

  "Well, I'd be happy to help you learn, if you like." She reached her hand out and touched one of her wall hangings. "Making a quilt can be the answer to so many problems."

  Then she sighed, grabbed a ruler from a nearby basket, and headed back to the front of the shop. I'd liked Nancy from the moment she came to work at my grandmother's shop more than ten years ago. She seemed rooted to Archers Rest. I don't think she'd been more than fifty miles from it for years, but she'd made sure her sons had the chance to go off to bigger things if they wanted. One was in medical school and the other, Nancy proudly told me, was planning to spend his junior year of college in Italy.

  "What are you doing?" My grandmother's voice snapped me to attention. "Are you caught in a trance over there?"

  I turned quickly, knocking over a display of scissors and rotary cutters.

  "You could definitely use more space," I said to justify my clumsiness. "If you knocked a wall down you could put up more shelves and get some of this stuff off the floor."

  "Knock a wall down?" Nancy asked as she moved back in our direction.

  "I was telling my grandmother that she should lease the diner space and expand the shop."

  "What a nice idea. Eleanor, do you think you will?"

  "For heaven's sake, Nancy, I have enough on my hands with this space, let alone taking on more expense and trouble." My grandmother walked away from us to help a woman pulling bolt after bolt of fabric off a shelf.

  "I think she's worried that she's getting too old for so much work," Nancy said in a low whisper.

  "Really?" was all I could say. To me, my grandmother had always been old and always ageless. When I was born she was almost fifty, and now she was in her midseventies. Even now she seemed to have more energy than I did. Or maybe it was just that she used her energy in more focused ways.

  "I think it would be exciting to expand the shop." Nancy looked around. "Give it a little face-lift."

  "If you want a face-lift…," Eleanor started as she finished up with her customer.

  "Too late to do me any good," Nancy laughed. "I just think it would be fun."

  It would be, I thought. I considered writing down some ideas, making myself useful.

  "I know we have more six-inch rulers." My grandmother was done dreaming and had returned to the business at hand. "But I can't find any."

  "Downstairs," said Nancy. "I'll get them."

  As she said that, two more women came into the shop. And behind them Carrie entered with two small kids in tow.

  "I'll get it," I volunteered. "You guys are getting busy."

  "Will you know what they are?" my grandmother asked, concerned.

  "Six-inch rulers are rulers that measure six inches, right? Or is that some clever quilting code to fool nonbelievers?"

  My grandmother was not a fan of sarcasm. Well, that's not true. She wasn't a fan of my sarcasm. She was perfectly fond of her own.

  "They're in a box by the back corner," said Nancy. "I think they're under a pile of other boxes. Just bring up three or four. We haven't room for more."

  "Just be careful," Eleanor said.

  "What's the worst that could happen? I'm in a quilt shop," I threw back at her as I headed toward the stairs.

  At the very back of the shop stood a long, narrow staircase that led down to a small storage room and office. With space at a premium, even the stairs were piled with boxes. A small chain with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign was supposed to keep out the customers, but the regulars always ignored it, as there was a bathroom downstairs.

  The stairs were not only narrow but also steep. I slowly went down, with one hand on the wall for safety. This was not something I wanted my grandmother to see-my being careful-but these were not stairs for the faint of heart.

  At the bottom, I stood amazed at the sea of boxes. Both Nancy and Eleanor were fans of keeping the latest new tools and fabric in stock, but with the shop already crowded, it meant that only one or two of each design made it upstairs and the rest waited in the basement. As something like six-inch rulers sold out, they had to make a trip downstairs for more. With the shop as busy as it was, that could mean as many as a dozen trips a day.

  It took me several minutes to find the box of rulers in the back corner and several more to find the six-inch ones. I had the brief idea of bringing up a twelve-inch ruler as a joke, but decided it would amuse only me. Instead I grabbed what I had been sent for and started back upstairs. But before I'd reached the third step, I'd almost tripped over a bolt of fabric. I put the rulers down and cleared the steps, moving everything to the corner of the basement.

  "Nell," I heard my grandmother call.

  "Coming."

  With that task done, I perched on a chair behind the register for the next hour and watched Eleanor wait on person after person. Everyone that came in gravitated toward her, and she seemed to have exactly what each person wanted. I liked my job most days, but I didn't excel at it like this. I didn't love it. One more way my life wasn't working. Could I be any more self-pitying? My name-sake would have been proud.

  When I saw her stop to talk with Carrie, I made my way over. Carrie's children were having quite a time tossing books from the low shelves of the book rack, but neither of the women seemed to notice.

  "It was something my granddaughter thought up," Eleanor was saying. "It seems like a lot of trouble."

  "What's that?" I interrupted. If the word on the street was that I thought up something that was a lot of trouble, it was enough of an invitation to join the conversation.

  "The diner," said Carrie. "Susanne mentioned to me that Eleanor might take it over."

  "Just talk," Eleanor said. I got the feeling she was reassuring the woman. "It's just that we are getting crowded in here."

  "Well, you could use the space," admitted Carrie. "But, of course, we could also use a good coffee shop in town." She turned to me. "The only place to get espresso in Archers Rest is at the pizza parlor. And it's instant."

  "I think a coffee shop is a great idea, too," I responded, trying to be nice. No sense in stepping on anyone's dream.

  "Well, it's a lot of work," Carrie said, seeming to back off the idea. Carrie's daughter was tugging at her leg, and Carrie was ignoring her. "My husband thinks it would be a waste of money since I don't really have the time."

  "Nor do I," agreed Eleanor. And then my grandmother reached down without looking and caught a bolt of fabric that Carrie's son was about to pull down on his head.

  Since I was doing little but stir up small-town controversy, I slowly headed toward the door. The shop was getting busy. People were coming in alone and in groups. Mostly women but some men. Some of them had fabric swatches or books to reference. Some seemed focused, heading right toward a section or a color. Others wa
ndered around, pulling fabrics here and there, waiting to fall in love with something. Everyone seemed filled with anticipation and creativity, and rather than sit on the sidelines, I decided to leave.

  "I'm heading to the house," I called back to my grandmother.

  "Barney will want a walk," she called back.

  Carrie's little boy beat me to the front door, with a frustrated Carrie, her daughter in her arms, following closely behind. I grabbed the little boy before he could make it into the street.

  "I used to be a vice president." Carrie shook her head. "On Wall Street. I thought I could handle anything." She nodded toward her children, running in circles around her.

  "They're lively. Kids are supposed to be lively," I said as her son jumped up into the backseat of Carrie's car, stepping over her daughter to do it.

  "I guess," she sighed, and opened her car for the kids to climb in. I turned to leave. "It's a good idea, your idea to expand the shop," Carrie said almost shyly.

  "She could use the space." I hesitated. "But I feel bad if you had plans for the diner yourself."

  "No, not plans. I just was talking about it with someone… Marc… you know Marc."

  "Yes. He's helping my grandmother."

  "He's great, isn't he? Just so many ideas," she practically gushed. "He's really very talented… in so many areas."

  "Like your kids." I pointed to the two children climbing over the backseat into the driver's seat.

  "Oh, God," she said as she reached into the back of her car, doing her best to restore order.

  I crossed the street and found myself in front of the town bakery. A familiar-looking man with glasses and a serious expression was holding the hand of a small girl. The child, maybe five years old, was happily struggling to fit a giant chocolate chip cookie into her small mouth. Several times he leaned down and patiently wiped the chocolate chip stains from her face.

  I was almost on top of them before I recognized him.

  "Officer…," I started.

  "Jesse… Dewalt." He stood up and smiled a little, but just a little. "This is my daughter, Allison."

  For just a second it seemed strange that he was a father. But I reminded myself that I didn't know anything about this man, except that Barney liked him. The fact that he was quiet and sullen didn't mean some woman couldn't have fallen head over heels for him.

  I waved to Allison. "It's a good day for a cookie," I said to her. And since her mouth was full, she just nodded.

  "She thinks every day is a good day, but we try to save it for a Saturday afternoon treat, right kid?" Allison looked up and laughed at her father, and he laughed back. The delight he took in her lit up his face, and I suddenly was struck by how handsome he was.

  "Well," I said, feeling a little awkward, "I should be heading back to my grandmother's."

  I started to turn before Jesse spoke. "How long are you staying?"

  "Until tomorrow."

  Allison tugged at his hand, but he kept his eyes on me. "You should come up more often," he said. "I know Eleanor would love it."

  "Maybe I should," I said. And for the first time when I smiled at him, he smiled back. "I'll let you guys get back to your Saturday." I looked down at Allison, whose face was now covered with chocolate. "But I'd clean her up before you head back to your wife."

  When I looked back at Jesse, his smile had faded. I nodded good-bye and turned toward my grandmother's, leaving the serious man to the not-so-serious task of keeping a little girl from dropping her cookie.

  It seemed like just the sort of crime prevention a cop in Archers Rest would be qualified for.

  CHAPTER 9

  When I got to the house, Marc's truck was out front and he was putting up the ladder. He was wearing a flannel shirt, and I was, as embarrassing as this is to admit, a little disappointed not to find him bare-chested again.

  "Hey there, granddaughter," he waved.

  "Nell," I said.

  "Marc." He smiled a dangerously cute smile. "Eleanor at the shop?"

  "Yes. I can call over there if you want."

  "No." He picked up a heavy load of roofing tiles. "It's just she usually makes me something to eat when I'm working for her. And she's a good cook."

  "Sorry. I'd offer, but you don't want my cooking."

  He smiled and looked at me. Not stared, exactly, but looked long enough to be studying me. It was a look of confidence, bordering on arrogance. But there was also something sad that betrayed the cool guy persona he was trying so hard to achieve. A bad boy with a touch of wounded puppy.

  Suddenly I was self-conscious. "I should get inside," I said.

  The spell was broken. He looked away. It seemed like he blushed, but maybe he was just sweaty from the work he'd been doing. In any case, he nodded and turned away.

  Barney greeted me with the usual excitement, for which he got two of his favorite doggy cookies. I let him out in the yard and he wandered out of sight, likely down to the river. I sat waiting for him to return, but ten minutes went by and then twenty. No Barney.

  A cloud moved over the sun and suddenly it turned the afternoon chilly and gray. I walked in the direction Barney had gone but there was no sight of him, just a few squirrels who scrambled up trees as I came close.

  "Barney," I called out. Nothing. "Barney," I said a little more insistently this time. Still nothing.

  I veered off the path I usually took to the edge of my grandmother's property and started toward the thicket of trees that we romantically called the "black forest." Although there were only a few dozen trees, they were old and even as they dropped their leaves, they still blocked out most of the darkening sky.

  "Barney," I practically screamed.

  There were more than five acres of property, but Barney was lazy. He wouldn't have wandered around. He would have done his business and come back to the house, knowing dinner was waiting for him.

  "Barney," I finally screamed.

  I heard rustling behind me and spun around. I saw nothing.

  A storm was now brewing in an ever-darkening sky, and I hadn't brought a flashlight with me. With the tall trees and the encroaching evening, I felt blackness descend around me.

  "Barney," I called toward the rustling. I could hear a slight panic in my voice. Even though I knew it had to be the squirrels, a small voice inside me said it didn't sound like squirrels. I was momentarilyfrozen, staring at the spot where I heard the sound. I wasn't sure whether I was scared that something had happened to the dog or was about to happen to me.

  "Nothing happens in this town," I told myself. "Good or bad."

  With common sense taking the lead, I turned back toward the house. I would give Barney an hour to get hungry and come home, and if he hadn't, I'd come back out with a flashlight.

  I took a dozen steps and heard a sound behind me. It was more than just rustling leaves. It was footsteps. I clenched my fist into a pathetic attempt at a weapon and turned.

  "Who is that?"

  Nothing.

  "Who is that?"

  "Hey," a male voice came from the other direction.

  "Marc?"

  "Yeah, you okay?"

  I was, I guess. "I thought someone was behind me."

  Marc came toward me. "I saw. You were about to do battle with a vicious squirrel. Or maybe a bunny." I turned and saw a squirrel rustling in the leaves before it scampered up a tree. Marc started laughing and I turned every shade of red from light pink to brick.

  He smiled. "I heard you calling for Barney." He stepped toward me. "I came to tell you he's in paw-to-paw combat with another squirrel out front. Takes after you, I guess."

  He took another step, and I instinctively stepped back, more out of extreme embarrassment than anything.

  "Did it scare you that bad?" he asked.

  "No." I hated being the silly girl. Maybe it was stupid to punish Marc for my self-consciousness, but I couldn't help myself. We walked for a minute in uncomfortable silence.

  "It's an amazing old place, isn't
it?" Marc stopped and looked at the house just up ahead.

  "Sometimes I love it almost as much as my grandmother does."

  "I bet she'd leave it to you, if you asked her," he said as he turned to me, his eyes sparkling.

  "Eleanor will be in this house for years," I said, a little offended. "Years and years."

  "I suppose. I've always wanted to go through the place, though. You know, see what's hidden in the attic."

  "I don't think anything's hidden up there. And you know my grandmother. She wouldn't want someone poking around her house even if the crown jewels were in it."

  He smiled and nodded. "I suppose. I guess I just like going where I don't belong." He winked at me, as if I knew what he meant.

  I moved ahead and Marc followed. By the time we reached the back door, we were side by side. His arm casually brushed against mine, and something about it made me jump a bit. Barney, looking a little worried, caught sight of us and ran to my side.

  "Why didn't you come when I called?" I asked him as he jumped at me so excitedly that I nearly fell over.

  "Didn't Eleanor tell you he's losing his hearing?"

  "I guess I forgot."

  Barney jumped up on me once again. Before I could crouch down to let the dog have his way, Marc pulled him off me roughly. Barney winced at the move.

  "Don't do that. You'll hurt him," I yelled.

  "Dogs shouldn't jump on people," he said flatly, and released Barney.

  "I have to feed him," I said. Leaving Marc at the back door, Barney and I went inside.

  Barney had barely begun his meal when the doorbell rang. I opened the front door to no one, but on the porch were a half dozen of my grandmother's flowers banded together with twine. Resting on the twine was a note: "Sorry I scared you. Mr. Squirrel."

  In the driveway, Marc had turned on the headlights of his truck. He waved at me. I waved back. "I'm going to clean up here before I leave," he called, gesturing toward the pile of old roof tiles that littered the front lawn.