First Impressions (13 page)

“Much better,” she murmured as he carried her from the room. “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” he told her. “I want my shirt back.”

Chapter 10

“Yes, of course you could convert it,” Shane agreed, passing her fingertip over the porcelain base of a delicate oil lamp.

“That's just what I thought.” Mrs. Trip, Shane's potential customer, nodded her carefully groomed white head. “And my husband's very handy with electrical things too.”

Shane managed a smile for Mr. Trip's prowess. It broke her heart to think that the sweet little lamp would be tampered with. “You know,” she began, trying another tactic, “an oil lamp is a smart thing to have around in case of power failure. I keep a couple myself.”

“Well, yes, dear,” Mrs. Trip said placidly, “but I have candles for that. This lamp's going to go right next to my rocker. That's where I do my crocheting.”

Though she knew the value of a sale, Shane couldn't stop herself from adding, “If you really want an electric lamp, Mrs. Trip, you could buy a good reproduction much cheaper.”

Mrs. Trip sent her a vague smile. “But it wouldn't be a real antique then, would it? Do you have a box I can carry it in?”

“Yes, of course,” Shane murmured, seeing it was useless to repeat that converting the lamp would decrease both its value and its charm. Resigned, she wrote out the sales slip, comforting herself with the thought that the profit from the lamp would help pay her own electric bill.

“Oh my, I didn't see this!”

Glancing up, Shane noted that Mrs. Trip was admiring a tea set in cobalt blue. The sun slanting in the windows fell generously on the dark, rich glass. There was a contrast of delicate gold leaf painted around the rim of each cup and the edge of each saucer.

“It's lovely, isn't it,” Shane agreed, though she bit the underside of her lip as the lady began to handle the sugar bowl. When she found the discreet price tag, she lifted a brow. “It goes as a complete set,” Shane began, knowing the price would seem staggering to someone unacquainted with valuable glass. “It's late nineteenth century and . . .”

“I must have it,” Mrs. Trip said decisively, cutting off Shane's explanation. “It's just the thing for my corner cabinet.” She sent a surprised Shane a grin. “I'll tell my husband he's just bought me a Christmas present.”

“I'll wrap it for you,” Shane decided, as pleased as Mrs. Trip with the idea.

“You have a lovely shop,” the woman told her as Shane began to box the glass. “I must say, I only stopped in because the sign at the bottom of the hill intrigued me. I wondered what in the world I would find. But it wasn't a big barn of a place with nonsense packed around like a yard sale.” She pursed her lips, glancing around again. “You've done very well.” Shane laughed at the description and thanked her. “And it's so nice to have the little museum too,” Mrs. Trip went on. “A very clever idea, and so tidy. I believe I'll bring my nephew by the next time I'm in the area. Are you married, dear?”

Shane sent her a look of wary amusement. “No, ma'am.”

“He's a doctor,” Mrs. Trip disclosed. “Internal medicine.”

Clearing her throat, Shane sealed the box. “That's very nice.”

“A good boy,” Mrs. Trip assured her as Shane adjusted the sales ticket to include the tea set. “Dedicated.” She dug out her checkbook, pulling her wallet along with it. “I have a picture of him right here.”

Politely, Shane examined the snapshot of a young, attractive man with serious eyes. “He's very good-looking,” she told his aunt. “You must be proud of him.”

“Yes,” she said wistfully, tucking the wallet back into her purse. “Such a pity he hasn't found the right girl yet. I'm going to be sure to bring him by.” Without a blink for the amount, Mrs. Trip wrote out a check.

It wasn't easy, but Shane maintained her composure until the door shut behind her customer. With a shout of laughter, she dropped into a button-back chair. Though she was uncertain if the nephew should be congratulated or pitied for having such a dedicated aunt, she did know what appealed to her sense of humor. Her next thought was how Vance would try not to grin when she told him of the lady's matchmaking attempts.

He'd lift a brow, Shane thought, and make some dry comment about her charming the old ladies so that they'd dangle their nephews under her nose. She was beginning to know him very well. Most of him, Shane corrected with a considering smile. The rest would come.

She checked her watch, finding herself impatient that two hours remained before he would be with her. She'd promised him dinner—a more elaborate dinner than the soup and sandwiches they had eaten the night before. Even now, the small rib roast was cooking gently in the oven upstairs. She considered closing early, calculating she had just about enough time to whip up some outrageous, elaborate dessert before he arrived. As the thought passed through her head, the door opened again.

Laurie MacAfee stepped in, buttoned to the neck in a long tan coat. “Shane,” she said, observing her casual posture in the chair. “Not busy I see.”

Though she smiled in greeting, some demon kept her seated. “Not at the moment. How are you, Laurie?”

“Just fine. I took off work early to go to the dentist, so I thought I'd drop by afterward.”

Shane waited, half expecting Laurie to comment on her good checkup. “I'm glad you did,” she said at length. “Would you like a tour?”

“I'd love to browse,” Laurie told her, glancing around. “What sweet things you have.”

Shane swallowed a retort and rose. “Thank you,” she said with a humility Laurie never noticed. Shane thought again how well suited she was to Cy.

“I must say, the place looks so much different.” In her slow, measured step, Laurie began to wander the old summer parlor. Though she hadn't expected to approve, she could find nothing to condemn in Shane's taste. The room was small, but light and airy with its ivory-toned walls, and the gleaming natural wood floor was scattered with hand-hooked rugs. Furniture was set to advantage, with accessories carefully arranged to give the appearance of a tidy, rather comfortable room instead of a store. Loosening the first few buttons of her coat, she roamed to the main showroom, then stood perusing it from the doorway.

“Why, you've hardly changed this at all?” she exclaimed. “Not even the wallpaper.”

“No,” Shane agreed, unable to keep her eyes from skimming over the dining room set. “I didn't want to. Of course, I had to set more stock in here, and widen the doorways, but I loved the room as it was.”

“Well, I'll confess I'm surprised,” Laurie commented as she wandered through to what had been the kitchen. “It's so organized, not jumbled up at all. Your bedroom was always a disaster.”

“It still is,” Shane replied dryly.

Laurie gave what passed for a laugh before continuing into the museum. “Yes, this I might have expected.” She gave a quick nod. “You always were a whiz at this sort of thing. I could never understand it.”

“Because I wasn't a whiz at anything else?”

“Oh, Shane.” Laurie flushed, revealing how close Shane's words had been to her thoughts.

“I'm sorry.” Immediately contrite, Shane patted her arm. “I was only teasing you. I'd show you the upstairs, Laurie, but it's not quite finished, and I shouldn't leave the shop in any case. Pat has classes this afternoon.”

Mollified, Laurie strolled back into the shop. “I'd heard she was working for you. It was very kind of you to give her the job.”

“She's been a big help. I couldn't manage it seven days a week all alone.” Shane felt a twinge of impatience as Laurie began to browse again. There wasn't going to be time to whip up anything more than instant chocolate pudding at this rate.

“Oh well, this is very nice.” Laurie's voice held the first true ring of admiration as she studied the Sheridan table Shane had bought the day before. “It doesn't look old at all.”

That was too much for Shane. She gave a burst of appreciative laughter. “No, I'm sorry,” she assured Laurie when she turned to frown at her. “You'd be surprised how many people think antiques should look moldy or dented. It's quite old, really, and it is lovely.”

“And expensive,” Laurie added, squinting at the price. “Still, it would look rather nice with the chair Cy and I just bought. Oh . . .” Turning, she gave Shane a quick, guilty look. “I wonder if you'd heard—that is, I'd been meaning to have a talk with you.”

“About Cy?” Shane controlled the smile, noting Laurie was truly uncomfortable. “I know you're seeing quite a lot of each other.”

“Yes.” Hesitating, Laurie brushed some fictitious lint from her coat. “It's a bit more than that really. You see, we're—actually . . .” She cleared her throat. “Shane, we're planning to be married next June.”

“Congratulations,” Shane said so simply that Laurie's eyes widened.

“I hope you're not upset.” Laurie began to twist the strap of her purse. “I know that you and Cy . . . Well, it was quite a few years ago, but still, you were . . .”

“Very young,” Shane said kindly. “I really do wish you the best, Laurie.” But a demon of mischief had her adding, “You suit him much better than I ever could.”

“I appreciate your saying that, Shane. I was afraid you might . . .” She flushed again. “Well, Cy's such a wonderful man.”

She means it, Shane noted with some surprise. She really loves him. Shane felt simultaneous tugs of shame and amusement. “I hope you're happy, Laurie, both of you.”

“We will be.” Laurie gave her a beaming smile. “And I'm going to buy this table,” she added recklessly.

“No,” Shane corrected her. “You're going to take the table as an early wedding present.”

Comically, Laurie's mouth dropped open. “Oh, I couldn't! It's so expensive.”

“Laurie, we've known each other a long time, and Cy was a very important part of my”—she searched for the proper phrase—“growing up years. I'd like to give it to both of you.”

“Well, I—thank you.” Such uncomplicated generosity baffled her. “Cy will be so pleased.”

“You're welcome.” Laurie's flustered appreciation made Shane smile. “Can I help you out to the car with it?”

“No, no, I can manage.” Laurie lifted the small table, then paused. “Shane, I really hope you have a tremendous success here. I really do.” She stood awkwardly at the door a moment. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Laurie.”

Shane closed the door with a smile, then immediately put Laurie and Cy out of her mind. After a glance at her watch, she noted that she had barely more than an hour now before Vance would be there. She hurried around to lock up the museum entrance. If she moved fast, she would have time to . . . The sound of an approaching car had her swearing.

Business is business, she reminded herself, and unlocked the door again. If Vance wanted dessert, he'd have to settle for a bag of store-bought cookies. Hearing the sound of footsteps on the porch, she opened the door with a ready smile. It faded instantly, as did her color.

“Anne,” she managed in a voice unlike her own.

“Darling!” Anne bent down for a quick brush of cheeks. “What a greeting. Anyone would think you weren't glad to see me.”

It took only a few seconds to see that her mother was as lovely as ever. Her pale, heart-shaped face was unlined, her eyes the same deep china blue, her hair a glorious sweeping blond. She wore a casual, expensive blue fox stroller belted at the waist with black leather, and silk slacks unsuitable for an Eastern winter. Her beauty, as always, sent the same surges of love and resentment through her daughter.

“You look lovely, Anne.”

“Oh, thank you, though I know I must look a wreck after that dreadful drive from the airport. This place is in the middle of nowhere. Shane, dear, when are you going to do something about your hair?” She cast a critical eye over it before breezing past. “I'll never understand why . . . Oh, my Lord, what
have
you done!”

Stunned, she gazed around the room, taking in the display cases, the shelves, the racks of postcards. With a trill of laughter, she set down her exquisite leather bag. “Don't tell me you've opened a Civil War museum right in the living room. I don't believe it!”

Shane folded her hands in front of her, feeling foolish. “Didn't you see the sign?”

“Sign? No—or perhaps I did but didn't pay any attention.” Her eyes slid, sharp and amused around the room. “Shane, what
have
you been up to?”

Determined not to be intimidated, she straightened her shoulders. “I've started a business,” she said boldly.

“
You
” Delighted, Anne laughed again. “But, darling, surely you're joking.”

Stabbed by the utter incredulity in Anne's voice, Shane angled her chin. “No.”

“Well, for heaven's sake.” She gave a pretty chuckle and eyed Shane's dented bugle. “But what happened to your teaching job?”

“I resigned.”

“Well, I can hardly blame you for that. It must have been a terrible bore.” She brushed away Shane's former career as a matter of indifference. “But why in God's name did you come back here and bury yourself in Hicksville?”

“It's my home.”

With a mild
hmm
for the temper in Shane's eyes, Anne spun the rack of postcards. “Everyone to his own taste. Well, what have you done with the rest of the place?” Before Shane could answer, Anne swept through the doorway and into the shop. “Oh, no, don't tell me, an antique shop! Very quaint and tasteful. Shane, how clever of you.” Her eye was sharp enough to recognize a few very good pieces. She began to wonder if her daughter wasn't quite the fool she'd always considered her. “Well . . .” Anne unbelted her fur and dropped it carelessly over a chair. “How long has this been going on?”