Small-Town Hearts (2 page)

D
anny read the business card she'd handed him and felt his heart downslide to somewhere in the vicinity of his gut. He sighed, a feeling of inevitable doom descending.

He turned and offered the grocer a hand along with a partial introduction, knowing that prices spiraled up when people knew he was scouting for real estate. Better to fly under the radar at this point. “Danny Graham. Pleased to meet you.”

“John Dennehy. Likewise.” The irritated man shrugged one shoulder west as Meggie and Ben proceeded down the tree-lined street. “They need to keep better control of Ben these days. He's not a little kid anymore.”

“Accidents happen. Is there a hotel or motel nearby?” Danny refused to get into a discussion of how the mentally challenged should be kept on a short leash. He understood
their limitations better than most, and knew that community involvement was in everybody's best interests.

“In Wellsville.” The grocer jutted his chin south. “And there's the B and B up the road. Nice place.”

Danny had noted the classic colonial bed-and-breakfast on the way in, but he was looking for something more long-term. He shook his head. “Wellsville, huh?”

John Dennehy nodded. “Closest thing, 'cept for the campgrounds on the other side of Baldwin's Crossing.”

He'd seen the campground sign as well, but that wouldn't do, either. He shrugged. “Wellsville it is. I'm surprised with how pretty your village is that no one's built anything closer to service the seasonal tourists.” Wellsville was a good fifteen minutes south of Jamison.

“Oh, they've tried, especially with the interstate so close,” John admitted, his lips thinned. “There's development, then there's development, if you know what I mean. These days it's best knowing just what kind of life you're after before sayin' yes to every character that barrels through, wantin' to build somethin'.”

The store owner's manner insinuated that Jamison might be an unlikely spot to approve his storefront development, but he wasn't in town looking for a fight. He was here to make his grandmother's dream come true, to open a store dedicated to her mother, his great-grandmother, the original Grandma Mary.

He gave John a direct and polite smile, determined to take his time, learn the lay of the land and not step on toes.

As John began wheeling the cart of damaged fruit inside, Danny held up a hand to stop him. “I'd like to buy this fruit.”

The grocer scowled, thinking he was kidding.

Danny jerked his head toward the emblems on the mercantile door that said despite its historic appearance, the store ac
cepted plastic in multiple forms. “And can you tell me where the nearest ATM is?”

John sized him up, shrugged and pressed his lips into a line. “You don't have to buy the fruit. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. He can't help that he's—”

Danny cut off the possible insult smoothly. “Challenged. Exactly. But I know a place that can use this fruit. Of course a discount would be in order.”

John's gaze turned hopeful. He shrugged and nodded. “I can't say I wouldn't be grateful. And the coffee shop at the end of the row has an ATM. The banks in Wellsville have them as well. Or you can select Cash Back when you pay for the fruit.”

Danny nodded, replanning the flow of his day to include a stop at the Colonial Candy Kitchen to make good on his promise.

The young woman had eyed him with suspicion when he'd raised Ben's hopes. How much lower would her opinion go when she realized he was heir apparent to Grandma Mary's Candies, one of the largest chocolate confectioners in the Northeast, and that his job would most likely include putting her out of business?

He bit back a sigh, put his game face on and helped John bag the fruit, contemplating this new wrinkle. Big cities like New York, Philly and Boston welcomed expansion and development. But here, in this sweet, historic village…

The phrase she used drew an inner smile as he remembered the tilt of her head, the arch of her brow.

Here he might be seeing his competition face-to-face every day, and he didn't like that. Not one little bit.

 

“Megan?”

Hannah Moore jogged toward Megan and Ben, her modern running gear a stark contrast to Megan's colonial costume.
She glanced at her sports watch, paused for breath, then nodded toward the candy shop door. “Running late?”

“Grrr…”

Hannah's sympathy turned into an understanding smile. “Well, the library doesn't open until three. Want some help?”

“Seriously? Yes.”

The smile deepened to a grin. “I'll grab a quick shower and head back. I wondered why I didn't see your car here on my first pass through.”

Hannah regularly ran the paths winding up and down the rolling countryside. Since Megan couldn't imagine running down the block, much less up a smallish mountain, she held Hannah in high esteem.

“The car's in the shop for a few days. And Ben's got today off, so…”

Hannah flashed a smile of understanding and welcome Ben's way. “So you get to hang out here today, huh, big guy?”

Ben beamed. “With Meggie.”

“And me.” Hannah sent Megan a look that said more than words, and headed south. “I'll be back in a little bit.”

“Thanks, Hannah.”

Megan watched her retreating back as Hannah wound her way beneath the trees, heading for home. For a fleeting moment she wondered what it would be like to have Hannah's athleticism and freedom, the chance to just go off and do whatever you wanted a good share of the time.

But she refused to dwell on their differences. Hadn't Reverend Hannity just offered a delightful homily equating God's timing with gardens, using metaphors like “the flowers of tomorrow are held in the seeds of yesterday” and “take the time to cultivate the garden within”?

Meg swallowed a sigh.

Right now her internal and external gardens were weed-
riddled, and while she appreciated the good reverend's warmth and wit, she'd give anything to feel like she was in charge of her life, at least part of the time. But between work constraints, helping with Ben and dealing with the aftermath of her public humiliation, she pretty much felt like a puppet on a string.

“Thanks for bringing me to work with you, Meggie.”

Ben's sincerity offered the kick she needed. She had much to be grateful for, starting with a business she'd built and loved, a sweet apartment upstairs that allowed independence and proximity to her store, a beautiful hometown just beginning to plow its way out of an economic backslide, and family and friends that loved her.

She refused to acknowledge what so many knew, that she'd been unceremoniously dumped by boyfriends twice in the past several years. She climbed the wide, wooden front steps of the candy store and grinned at Ben. “Glad to have you on board.”

His smile tipped her world back on its axis, the sweet, impish grin a quality that couldn't be bottled. Ben might have the inquisitive nature of an errant child, but he didn't have a mean bone in his body, and there were plenty of people who could take a lesson from that.

 

“Hannah, that looks great.” Meg indicated the neon-colored lollipops and nodded approval, the eye-catching array complementing the season. “Picture-perfect. Total attention grabber.”

“Nothing to compare with what approacheth from yonder stone parking lot. Take heed!” Hannah pseudowhispered as she crossed into the production kitchen, her eyes teasing. “A man of certain breeding and gentility comes hither. Might we ready some tea for him, perchance?”

Megan shot her a withering look, glanced through the front window and decided the hop, skip and jump in her chest was a
leftover sugar high from not sticking to diet soda. She dusted her hands on her apron, tucked the look of surprise away, headed for the counter and faced the door as their early visitor reappeared. He met her gaze and grinned.

Knowing how his easy demeanor had affected her defenses earlier, she should have sent Hannah to the counter. But she didn't, which meant she was either healing or a glutton for punishment.

Hannah moved forward, glancing at her watch. “Miss Russo, might I by your leave long enough to deliver today's cookies to the mercantile and café just shy of the village green?”

Megan rolled her eyes, met Hannah's gaze and nodded at the obvious ploy. “As always, I am grateful for your help, Miss Moore.”

“As am I for the gainful employment, Miss Russo.”

The man swept them an appreciative look. “Obviously whatever's in the water down here is contagious. If I stay for a few weeks, will I begin to talk like that, too?”

Megan regarded him with care, a hint of amusement lifting her voice, much as it had an hour earlier. “If one were to linger and reside amongst the genteel of yesteryear, one would surely find their faith, warmth and culture most contagious, kind sir. Do you plan to take lodgings in this vicinity?”

“If that's your cagey way of asking if I plan to be in town awhile, the answer is yes. I have business here.”

Hannah pushed through the front door with a wave. “I shall leave you to your verbal sparring while I deliver these forthwith.”

Megan watched Hannah go with mixed feelings. Volleying words with this guy was easy with others around. Somehow it felt less natural on her own. She busied herself righting a rack of flavored candy sticks that didn't need straightening, their old-world appeal and low cost an invitation to purchase in bulk.

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew cold, hard cash, a welcome sight in a retail establishment. He eyed the credit card machine on the counter with a look of disbelief, then turned to her. “You said you couldn't take credit cards.”

“And such as this is true, kind sir, two blocks from my place of business, in the middle of the street at break of day.”

He frowned and moved closer to the counter, giving Megan a clear view of those gray eyes, light in the middle, their color deepening as the iris widened. His straight, dark hair stopped a hint longer than military length, and the square set of his jaw marked him as a man of decision. But in Megan's recent experience, men of decision quickly pivoted into indecision where matters of forever were concerned, so she wasn't about to believe anyone's chin, no matter how delightfully rugged it appeared.

He angled his head while waiting for her to conclude her perusal, as if accustomed to women sizing him up.

Totally understandable, considering his appearance.

She bit down a sigh, put a serene face in place and inclined her head. “But as you bear witness, kind sir, I have a machine of that nature here.”

“Oh, I see all right.” He let his gaze rest upon her for long seconds, his look inviting challenge. “I think I'm reading you loud and clear, Miss…?”

“Megan.” She gave a slight curtsy, very much in character. “Megan Russo, in actuality, the proprietor of this establishment and sister to Benjamin, the fine young man who made your acquaintance this morning.”

His smile deepened. Broadened. He held out a hand. “And I'm Daniel Graham, but my friends call me Danny.”

“Whereas I am scarce an acquaintance of yours, I shall be delighted to call you Mr. Graham.” She sent him a quick,
smiling look over her shoulder as she moved along the counter, hoping he'd follow.

He did.

She bit back a grin, wishing this weren't fun, wishing he weren't absolutely adorable, wishing she hadn't been burned twice already and fairly certain that public humiliation was her permanent Facebook status, since that seemed to be how her life rolled these days.
Focus, Meg. Ignore the cleft in his chin, the crinkled eyes and that light of awareness. Remember, you don't know him, and probably wouldn't like him if you did.

She paused once she had the counter between them and offered him an expectant look. “How might I be of help to you this day, good man?”

 

It had to be wrong to think anyone was this cute, this over-the-top, heart-stoppingly magnetic. Right?

Danny tried to prevent his reaction, to no avail. She captivated him, plain and simple. The look, the quirky nature, the spunk, the knowing smile. He hadn't reacted to a woman like this in, well…

Ever.

He'd had a variety of relationships over the years, and knew way too many Saks Fifth Avenue-friendly types from his years in Philly and New York, coupled with his regular excursions to Grandma Mary's sprawling Northeast venues.

Nothing prepared him for the total impact of this quaintly clad young woman whose eyes held challenge and maybe, just maybe, a hint of cynicism, enough to make him wonder why and how it got there in a locale saturated with small-town goodness.

He tamped the feelings down, realizing he was simply experiencing a normal, healthy reaction to a new situation because no one in big cities wore quaint, full-skirted gowns made of the sweet calicos his grandmother employed in her
quilt making. And the quiet swish of the dress as Megan moved…

Just made him wish she'd move more.

He frowned inward and outward, chasing his errant thoughts away. “I've come to buy the candy bars I wanted to purchase earlier.”

She nodded, slid open the door of an immaculate glass display case and withdrew a wicker basket of wrapped bars. She set the basket on the counter. Danny glanced around, noting the layout, and turned back, nodding. “You've picked a good location for the chocolate with summer here. This side of your display is shadowed enough to keep the temperature from fluctuating.”

One sculpted brow arched in quiet accord. “Chocolate is a delicacy, indeed. If one does not take care to manage it with an eye toward temperature control, one can ruin a batch forthwith. And exposure to the sun will gray it, drawing the composition oils to the surface. Most unappealing.”