Blackberry Summer (20 page)

When he moved his mouth slightly to try pulling away in some vain attempt to regain a little sanity, she followed him, leaning forward and up as if she couldn’t bear to break the kiss. He closed his eyes,
hating himself, but then he kissed her. Really kissed her. Tongue and teeth, heat and hunger.

The kiss went on and on. Just when he was about to climb onto the sofa with her, cover her body with his, reach beneath her clothing to the soft curves concealed there, a canine snort rasped through the room like someone had just fired up that chain saw again.

He froze and gazed at her, mouth swollen, eyes half-closed. She looked lush and gorgeous, so sensual that he had to move away from the sofa, out of arm’s reach, or he would have grabbed for her again.

“See that?” His voice was low, raw. “I can’t even be trusted to keep my hands off you even when we both know I’m not good for you. I take what I want, regardless of the consequences. Not so very different from my old man, am I?”

She stared at him, blinking back to reality. She gave a shuddering sort of breath, pressing fingers that trembled to her mouth, and he forced himself to look away, hating himself.

“Good night. Make sure you lock up behind me.”

He headed out her back door into the May night.

O
H, IT WAS GOOD TO BE BACK.

Claire shifted position in the overstuffed burgundy tapestry chair that now had pride of place beside the antique console table holding the String Fever cash register.

She had no idea where Evie had unearthed the old chair and its matching ottoman. They had been waiting for her when she showed up a few hours earlier, plump and comfortable and exactly the right height.

From here, she could keep her stupid cast elevated yet still be part of the day-to-day action in the store. Evie had even found a little wheeled worktable that fit precisely over the arms of the chair for her laptop and whatever small bead project she might be tackling.

She listened to the chatter of a couple of customers asking Evie a question about a class on the schedule for a few weeks’ time and savored the joy of being back. She felt as if she had been freed from a long, dark winter, tossed headlong into verdant new leaves, warm sunshine, daffodils underfoot.

For the first time in three weeks, she didn’t have that little niggle at the base of her neck, that disconcerting sensation of a life spinning beyond her control. Here,
she was centered, calm. She only wished she’d come in a week earlier.

The customers signed up for the class and left together and Evie returned to the inventory list they’d been going over before the women came in.

“So it looks like we’re running low on earring wires and toggle clasps.”

“Wow, already?” Claire exclaimed. “I swear, I just ordered those last week. I guess it must have been longer than that.”

Evie checked the computer. “Looks like six weeks. We had a run on both of those before Mother’s Day. I see you liked your watchband, by the way.”

Claire smile, twisting her wrist to better admire the way the recessed lights played on the gems. “You’re a sneaky thing, aren’t you? What were you doing, encouraging my son to lie to me about his whereabouts?”

Evie smiled. “Not my idea. He came up with the whole thing himself. Even picked out the spacers himself.”

“Well, thank you. It was a lovely gift.”

She’d cried buckets when she’d opened it—just as she’d cried when she opened the matching earrings and pendant Macy must have sneaked in to make. Her children knew her well. Handmade beadwork was definitely the way to her heart.

“Did you have a nice day yesterday?”

She thought of the brunch her mother had fixed, which had tasted slightly better than the crow Claire had decided to eat to ease the tension between them from their argument Friday night.

“Nice. My mom made her fantastic crepes. What about you?”

Evie smiled, though Claire thought it was slightly bittersweet and she wondered again at the past Evie never discussed. “Great. I picked up the dog I was talking about. He’s gorgeous.”

“Where is he?” she exclaimed. “Up in your apartment? You have to bring him down. I want to see! He and Chester can bond!”

“He was sleeping in his crate when I left and I didn’t want to wake him. I’ll go up in an hour or so and bring him down, see how he does in the store. I thought if you don’t mind, I’ll let him play out in the yard.”

“Of course!” One of the things Claire loved best about her store—in pleasant weather, at any rate—was the garden in the back. The fenced space was only twenty feet by twenty feet, but it had a colorful flower garden and a set of lawn furniture she’d found at a yard sale the summer before. On sunny days, the children liked to do their homework out there or play with Chester.

“This is the bolo tie clasp I was thinking about making for the next class at the art center. What do you think?”

Claire admired the cleverly constructed piece. “I think that is a fantastic idea. Maybe we can get some of the husbands involved, the ones who always sit out in their cars and listen to talk radio while their wives bead.”

Evie’s smile was mischievous. “That’s the plan. Get them hooked by making a project for themselves and
then they won’t mind when their wives come to the classes in the future.”

“You’re an evil genius in the making.”

“Anything I can do to keep the classes going,” Evie said. “It’s my favorite part of the week.”

Claire completely understood. She had started the senior citizen classes shortly after she took over at the request of some of her regular customers who were looking for an excuse to gather socially while they pursued their favorite hobby. She had found the women hilarious—smart, pithy, immensely creative—and had been delighted with the response. From überwealthy older women with vast vacation homes in the area to humble year-rounders like Mrs. Redmond next door, the ongoing class had been enormously successful and Claire had loved the interaction with Hope’s Crossing’s more seasoned citizens.

After a few months, many of those who came to the Bead Babes meetings started talking about how their arthritis symptoms seemed less severe while they were beading, with increased dexterity and less pain.

With that in mind—and not without a great deal of regret—Claire decided to turn the Bead Babes group over to Evie when she came to town from Southern California a year ago. Her credentials as a physical therapist made it a logical choice.

“What about next month?” Claire asked.

Evie looked suddenly secretive. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“You can’t quit,” Claire said instantly. “I don’t care. I won’t let you. I know there’s no such thing as inden
tured servitude anymore, but I’ll figure out a way to make it legal again.”

Evie laughed. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere. Well, not taking a new job anyway. You know I love it here. But I’ve been kicking around the idea of going out on the summer craft show circuit. So many of our customers who bead have had their lives tangled up in the poor economy. I was thinking I could take their work out on consignment across Colorado. Charge a nominal fee to them, mainly to cover the booth costs. It’s sort of a win-win for String Fever because the beaders will buy their supplies from us, plus we can advertise at the craft fairs at the same time.”

“Evie, that’s brilliant!” Her mind raced with possible beaders who might be in need of a little extra income. Unfortunately, with the high taxes and cost of living in Hope’s Crossing, that list was longer than it should have been.

“I love this idea. Which shows were you thinking?”

“Well, because you asked,” she smiled. “I made a list.” With her usual efficiency, she pulled out a folder next to the cash register and extracted a piece of paper. “This was just a listing of all the fairs within a two-hundred-mile radius.”

“Wow! So many. I had no idea.”

“Yes, I was thinking I would start with…”

Whatever she intended to say was cut off by the melodic chimes on the door, heralding a new arrival. Chester looked up with interest, then dropped his head again when he spied Ruth.

“Hi, Mom,” Claire said.

“Oh, thank the good Lord. You’re here.”

Her heart gave a sharp kick at the urgent note in her mother’s voice and her cast nearly slid off the ottoman as she straightened in the easy chair.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Is it the kids? Did the school call you?”

Ruth’s brow furrowed. “The school? No. Why on earth would they call me?”

She ordered her breathing to slow, her shoulders to relax, the visions of mortally ill children to clear. “I don’t know. You just sounded so frantic when you came in. I assumed something was wrong with the kids.”

“Of course I was frantic. I’ve been worried sick about you! I went to your house and you weren’t there and I called your cell phone and you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you’d had to go to the hospital or something. I’m so glad I decided to check here first.”

“I’m sure if Claire had to go to the hospital, you would be the first one she called,” Evie said in her quiet, calm voice.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Ruth muttered.

Claire wasn’t so certain, either, but she decided this might not be the best time to mention that.

“I must have turned off the ringer on my phone. I’m sorry.” She pulled it out of her purse on the floor beside her and saw she had, indeed, missed six—count ’em six—calls from her mother.

“I never dreamed you were back at work. What are you doing here anyway?” Her mother went on. “You’re not at all ready to come back to work!”

Claire swallowed her sigh. “Mom, it’s been three weeks since the accident. Dr. Murray cleared me last
week and even Jeff said there’s no reason I can’t return to work, as long as I take it easy.”

“Which, for you, is easier said than done. You nearly died. I would say that warrants more than a few days away from work.”

Three weeks did not a few days make—and while the accident had certainly been scary and she wasn’t at all eager to repeat the experience, her mother’s assessment was a bit of a stretch.

“I’m feeling much better now. I was more than ready to come back.”

“You’re going to be sorry. You watch. You’re going to overdo and then you’ll pay the price. You always think you can handle more than you should.”

Since when? In Claire’s view, the opposite was probably more accurate. She always feared she would crack apart under the strain of all she had to do, but somehow, despite the odds, she always managed to get through.

“I
have
been easing into the work, Mom. I promise. I’m hardly doing anything, just ask Evie.”

“True enough, Ruth,” her friend said helpfully. “She’s been sitting on her lazy butt all morning, just giving orders like the bossy britches she is.”

Ruth looked between the two of them as if she wasn’t quite sure whether to defend her daughter’s work ethic or applaud her good sense.

Claire took pity on her mother’s indecision. “Why were you looking for me? Did you need something?”

Ruth fussed at a clear plastic display of business cards on the table in a way that seemed completely unlike her. “Oh, you know. Just checking on you.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” Claire pressed.

Ruth picked up the bolo tie and rubbed a finger across the stone, avoiding Claire’s gaze. “Well, the truth is, I need to ask your opinion about something.”

She seemed reluctant to elaborate and Evie, brilliant and insightful friend that she was, stepped away from the counter. “I’m going to run up to check on my dog. Ruth, will you excuse me?”

“Bring him down with you,” Claire said.

When she was gone, Claire turned to her mother again. “Mom, is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Not exactly. I just wondered how you would feel if I took a temporary job.”

Claire gaped at her. “A job.”

“A temporary one. Mary Ella talked to me about it this morning. But I should just say no, especially while you and the children need me so much right now for rides and the like.”

“I’ve certainly been grateful for your help, but I can make other arrangements. What sort of job?”

“Helping at the bookstore. You know Sage has gone back to college for her exams and Mary Ella’s been running Dog-Eared by herself until Maura has a little more time to sort things out. Angie helps when she can, but she’s busy with those kids of hers and of course Alex has the restaurant.”

“I think that’s a terrific idea!” Claire smiled. “You love to read. You would really excel in that environment.”

“I thought about opening a bookstore myself when I was younger.”

She stared. This was the first she’d ever heard that. “Really?”

Ruth shrugged. “I got married instead and then you came along. I wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but it should be fun for a few weeks and if it helps Maura, then it’s worth it. As long as you’re sure you and the children can manage without me.”

“While I appreciate all you’ve done for us, we’ll make do,” she assured her mother, still rather numb. Ruth sometimes helped at String Fever during busy times and she’d worked on and off at the charity consignment store in town, but she mostly lived off the proceeds of Claire’s father’s insurance policy and the sale of a hundred acres in Silver Strike Canyon that had been in her family for several generations.

“When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. Mary Ella’s going to show me the routine there.” She paused. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, not at all! Why would I? I think it will be great for you. You’ll love it, Mom.”

“We’ll see. I probably can’t run Maura out of business in only a few weeks.”

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Her mother decided to stay for a while and work on a few new pairs of earrings to go with her new undertaking. Unfortunately, that meant she was just settling in at the worktable with her findings and the seed beads and Lucite she had decided to use when Evie came down with the her temporary houseguest.

Claire immediately fell in love with the tan, gangly, unusual-looking creature, with a Lab-shaped face and body but tight, wiry poodle hair. Chester, too, seemed
to find the new arrival acceptable. His tail even wagged when the dog—whom Evie introduced as Jacques—sniffed around him.

Ruth, not so much. When the friendly animal headed to greet her, her mouth pursed. “I hope you’re not planning to bring that dog into the store with you on a regular basis. Chester is already one dog too many in a place of business, if you want my opinion.”

Because Claire had heard that particular opinion countless times, she only smiled.

“Come on, Jacques,” Evie said. “Out.”

The dog obeyed the command immediately—as did Chester, who apparently wanted to make sure the new arrival knew which of them was in charge.

Evie had just come in from the garden with the dogs when the chimes rang again.

“Claire! You’re back!”

Mary Ella burst through the door, headed straight for her and hugged her close.

“It’s so wonderful to see you here in the store, right where you belong. You must have been more than ready to come back.”

She smiled, resisting the childish urge to give her mother an “I told you so” look. “I was. Thank you.”

“Ruth, did you tell Claire you’re coming to help us out at the bookstore for a few weeks?”

“I did.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Claire said.